


no pressure, no diamonds

by karamelised



Series: no pressure, no diamonds ‘verse [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (like if you squint real hard), Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Con Artists, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fighting, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Past Relationship(s), Rimming, Smut, Snark, Underwater Blow Jobs, also there's mention of, and break into places, and now it's awkward because they have to work together, and some, and somehow their pesky attraction keeps being in the way, as the actual intercourse happens off screen, basically harry and louis are, basically instead of taking about their feelings the boys have a lot of sex, because they are dumb boys that suck at communicating their feelings, there's also some, which consisted mostly of spending an entire week in their hotel room and fucking like bunnies, with a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karamelised/pseuds/karamelised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A life of crime means there is no nine to five, no white picket fence and definitely no happily ever after. In a life where lying gets you everywhere and stealing things becomes a sport, there is no place for romantic endings. Louis knows this, and so does Harry. Problem is, they're both wrong. </p><p>or</p><p>Louis is a thief, Harry a grifter. They are thrown together for a huge diamond heist in Paris, where their past soon catches up to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For the hl summer fic exchange. Thank you greyish_sky for the prompt (which you can find in the notes at the end), I hope you like it! A big thanks to the moderators of the fic exchange, too! 
> 
> A HUGE thank you to my lovely beta and britpicker [hannah](http://bluemeetinggreen.tumblr.com/), who knows just how to encourage and challenge me both, who works on a tight schedule (because I suck at time management) and who is just generally a wonderful human being <3
> 
> Also, all my love to e & e, who are always there for me, hold my hand and listen to me whine. I honestly don't know how you do it, but I'm just insanely happy I found you! e especially, I am sorry for always changing the topic back to this fic, you're amazing and encouraging and ily!
> 
> None of this is real, I don't own the boys and I have absolutely no idea how to break into vaults, etc. all that knowledge comes from movies and tv shows, which should tell you all you need to know about its accuracy.
> 
> Title quote by Thomas Carlyle.
> 
> → [tumblr post](http://karamelised.tumblr.com/post/130351074552/no-pressure-no-diamonds-in-the-rough-epilogue). Now, enjoy!

"Stop glaring at the mark," Liam hisses.

The tray filled with glittering champagne flutes and fruity cocktails doesn’t so much as waver as he easily steps around Louis and continues on his way.

Just for a moment Louis’ frown deepens, the muscles in his forehead aching. With a calming breath he schools his features into blatant disinterest, just like the other attendants of this exclusive party. But unlike them, he isn’t just another trust-fund baby out to spend Daddy’s money in the most obnoxious way possible.

No, he’s working. So he probably should get it together. Right.

Across the room, Niall is sitting reclined on one of the many couches, both arms slung over the back of it while trying to pay equal amounts of attention to the three girls around him. Their eyes meet for a split second, Niall’s animated face freezing up for just a moment.

It’s enough. If even Niall, easy-going and fun loving Niall, is concerned, Louis' starring must have been more than unsubtle.

He pinches his left wrist with his right index finger and thumb discreetly, anchoring himself and slipping back into a much clearer headspace. Good. It wouldn't do to be distracted on the job.

There’s money on the line.

Resolutely not turning around and thereby avoiding the source of his distraction, his eyes flit over the girls sitting with Niall, mind quickly calculating the value of their jewellery. It isn’t close to what it might have been, even though pearl necklaces and ruby earrings are clearly displayed. Unfortunately, fake jewellery looks close enough to the real thing nowadays. Even the rich have caught on to the fact that a cut piece of glass set in a real gold band will withstand anything but the closest scrutiny. And it’s not like Louis could go up to one of these girls, inebriated or not, and pull out his jeweler's loupe to discern whether the diamond exhibited inclusions or had the perfection of a lab grown fake.

Almost by accident, he turns his head, watching a fit guy walk past. Short cropped blond hair, casual looking yet expensive clothes. And on his wrist, a real Rolex Daytona in rose gold.

Louis' fingers twitch and he takes an unconscious step closer.

The watch isn’t worth that much, only around twenty thousand pounds. Half that if he wants to get rid of it quickly. But then, he's never seen a real one.

Louis contemplates if a quick lift would be worth his troubles, when his gaze catches on the lean figure across the room again. All thoughts of jewellery evaporate, head turning without his consent on invisible marionette strings.

Expensive dark shoes, real italian leather - with a heel almost too high for a man, followed by long, long legs. At first glance, the trousers seem too tight for a classically cut suit. But this customised piece by Westmancott clearly has the wearer's preferences in mind. The suit jacket sits perfectly across broad shoulders, its clean edges contrasting alluringly with the soft curls framing the wearer's face.

This trendy, upscale party is exactly the place where you would find a twenty year old with Jagger hair and a suit worth almost ninety thousand pounds. Now that’s a lift Louis wouldn’t mind.

For the suit. Not so the guy would be naked. Just the suit.

The blonde woman he’s chatting to is older by quite a bit. Both her neck and wrists are adorned with white gold chains and dangling diamonds. Of all the diamonds in this room, he suspects those have the biggest chance of being real.

Sonya Magee leans towards her companion, deep cleavage revealing a rather impressive set of silicone boobs. Louis winces. He’s neither straight nor drunk enough for this. But conversation is flowing smoothly between the two, light touches of hands to arms affirming what they both know the direction this is heading towards.

Louis purses his lips when the guy leans in again, not-so-discreetly placing a business card into Sonya's eager palm. He holds her hand in one of his big ones and scribbles something onto the back of the card. Probably a room number.

Louis watches unabashedly now as the guy leans in again, whispering into her ear. Louis' teeth gnash when those gorgeous lips drag languidly over her skin, his words causing a faint blush to rise on her cheeks.

She nods eagerly when he pulls back and Louis wonders, not for the first time, if pulling is this easy for everyone or if it's something in the guy's DNA.

He watches Sonya head for the double winged doors leading to the reception area. Just as she reaches them, she turns slowly, throwing a heated look over her shoulder.

Her rooms are just upstairs, her husband wouldn't dare springing for anything but the suite even in a hotel this expensive. People talk and Harry Magee knows all about that. Which is why he's kept his wife's indiscretions under wrap for years now. Not good enough though, but then almost nothing is if Liam starts digging.

Louis snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and gulps it down in one long sip. He hears Niall's discontented hum over his earpiece. If it wouldn't blow their cover, he'd flip him the bird.

Yes, this is a job. Yes, he's drinking alcohol. But they've veered off script some time ago, so the others can bite him.

He turns back in time to see the tall guy with the curls drop his own brandy tumbler on a nearby table. He smoothes the front of his shirt, unbuttoned down to the navel, and follow Sonya discreetly. Once at the doors he turns in an eery copy of her move previously. His eyes find Louis’.

Then he winks.

Louis fucking hates Harry Styles.


	2. Chapter 2

+++ Three weeks ago +++

"But you worked with him before, right? The Benson job?"

Louis fidgets and folds his legs underneath his bum. The couch is old, ratty even. He wonders if Niall found it on the side of the road. Then he wonders why on earth Niall wouldn't buy a newer, nicer one. If his intel is correct (and he prides himself on having the right intel. Liam is very good at his job), Niall has more money stashed away in offshore bank accounts than Louis ever did. And that's only the accounts Liam was able to find.

"I guess," Louis says when Niall looks at him expectantly.

"You guess?"

Louis sighs, eyes sweeping over the sparsely furnished student pad, though the name might be misleading. It's nothing more than a glorified shoebox with an adjacent bathroom. There's water stains in three of the top corners, the front door can be jimmied with a plastic card and the inside of the fridge is almost the same temperature as the outside.

Louis takes a sip from his luke warm beer and looks at Niall, reclined in the musty armchair, sunk deep in the old cushions. Other people with Niall's money live in Kensington or Chelsea, in secluded villas with fourteen bedrooms and a personal chef. Or in an exclusive high-rise apartment building with a 24-hour concierge desk and an in house spa. Instead, Niall decided to rent a run down, one-bedroom flat in Walthamstow.

Louis will never understand him.

"Yes, we worked together. But it was a large crew and we hardly interacted as he had to go in weeks early, establish a believable office job."

Niall frowns slightly and Louis can practically see the wheels in his head turning.

"But he's good, right? Can act properly?"

Louis thinks back to the first time he ever saw Harry Styles, acting on stage for a tiny production in London. It had been some Shakespearean play, which, Louis is pretty sure, completely tanked because of Harry's atrocious acting. He had been on stage, self aware, and it had shown in every line he uttered and every time he gesticulated. His face had given it all away and Louis remembers thinking this kid with the dimples and the curls might be able to get a one-night-stand at the club without a problem. But convincing the CEO of one of the most influential firms in London to fall for him? There wouldn't be a chance in hell.

"He's the best grifter I know," Louis says slowly while choosing his words with care. He doesn't like lying to Niall so he avoids it at all cost. "Saw him on stage once though. It was pretty bad."

Niall grins slowly. "Yeah?"

Louis nods. "You should have seen the reviews. They tore his performance apart. But I think it's just not his stage, you know? He's meant for the real world. He knows how to turn on the charm and get what he wants. And he does it all with a note of clueless loveliness that has no one suspect him. It's quite brilliant, actually."

"Loveliness, hmm?"

Louis tries to contain his flush. He probably should remember that he's talking to Niall here, the guy that not only brings their little band of misfits together but also plans most of their heists. He can't slip up. Working with someone you've had a past relationship with, brief as it was, is frowned upon in their line of work. Too many emotions equal too many things that can go wrong.

"But he's trustworthy, right? Reliable sort?"

Louis thinks back to their weekend in Venice. They'd spent most of it in the five-star Hotel Danieli. According to Harry, the hotel had been around for almost 700 years. While it overlooked the Riva delgi Shiavoni and was just steps away from the Piazza San Marco, they hadn't really enjoyed the location in the way it was meant to be. But, Louis guesses, for that you'd probably need to leave the bed more often.

Days of crisp, clean sheets permanently rumpled flashes through his mind. Soft, tattooed skin and long limbs entwined with the white linen, and more often than not, with him.

Only once had they made it to the roof-top restaurant instead of ordering room service. But all the most stunning views of Venice hadn't been enough to take his eyes off of Harry for more than two seconds. Needless to say, they didn't make it to dessert.

It had been perfect. Four perfect days, more orgasms than he can remember and Louis had fancied himself in love.

He remembers waking up on the fifth day, arms stretching automatically in search of the warm body he'd become so accustomed to. He'd smiled, half-hard already and about to make some comment about his loaded gun, a joke that had grown between them over the last few days.

But his fingers only encountered cold sheets, Harry's smell present but no longer vibrant, nothing more but what clung to the sheets. That's when his heart sank.

It clenched when he found Harry's note on the bedside table.

It shattered two days later when he'd waited for four hours at the agreed upon place should they get separated, and Harry hadn't shown.

"Trustworthy," he mumbles, arranges his face in a neutral expression. "When it comes to a job, Harry is extremely reliable and trustworthy, yes."

Niall nods, absentmindedly stroking his chin while looking off into the half-distance.

"Will it be a problem for you?"

Louis feels the tips of his ears burn. He knew this was coming. It doesn't make this any less uncomfortable.

"No."

Niall watched him for a long moment before nodding. "I don't like bringing in new people this late in the game. It's an incalculable risk. But Grimmy can't do it, can't con the same people twice. At least not with a higher risk."

Louis rolls his eyes and grimaces when he takes another swig. It's not like he asked for an explanation. He trusts Niall. "And you like your cons to run at the lowest possible risk, yeah, yeah, I know the spiel."

Niall is about to retort when they both freeze at the sound of a key sliding into the lock. Moments later Melissa shoulders her way inside, backpack almost falling off her shoulder, the books in her arms tipping precariously to the side.

Niall jumps up, setting his beer down so hard on the table it wobbles and falls over, the last dregs spilling out. Niall doesn't even give it a second glance and Louis guesses it's not like the table will look any worse with a few more beer stains.

"Hey babe," Niall says. The thoughtful look from moments before slides off his grinning face effortlessly. By the time Melissa looks up all she sees is the simple irish lad she fell in love with. "How were classes? Here, let me help you."

She passes him her books gratefully and slides the backpack from her shoulder. It makes a heavy thudding noise hitting the ground and she rolls her shoulders, the slightly harried look disappearing quickly. She leans up and pecks Niall's cheek. "They were good, thanks."

She smiles at Niall brightly who quickly places the books on the rickety side table. He catches her by the hip and pulls her close, both their expressions softening further before they finally kiss hello, not even bothering to wipe their lovestruck smiles from their faces first.

Louis looks away, some ugly feeling clenching his gut. It's not like he isn't happy for Niall. They've become true friends over the years, of course he's happy for him. But he's also jealous, not of either of them because eww on both accounts. No he's jealous of what they have, which probably makes him a horrible person and shitty friend.

Just to prove to himself that he's not a complete arsehole, he stays for dinner. Maybe it's also to prove to Melissa he really has turned over a new leaf, since finding the root cause for his jealousy has also stopped his deep-seated dislike for her. She's a lovely girl and Niall is lucky to have her. How he ever snagged her without actually telling her about being a multi-millionaire is beyond Louis though.

Once he blindly stopped disliking her for the sole reason of being Niall's girlfriend, they'd actually become fast friends themselves. He'd been lucky to turn it around before their relationship had been irreparably damaged by his loud, sarcastic and sometimes downright mean comments.

He'd taken to her hard working, diligent side and she appreciated his mischievous streak. They'd talked it out, still one of the most awkward moments of Louis' life, but he knew he had to push through, for the sake of his friendship with Niall, if nothing else.

He gets her a beer from the fridge and she falls onto the couch with an exhausted sigh.

"Thanks," she says and takes it gratefully, her smile weak but genuine. She tips her head back and rolls it to peer at the kitchen. Or more specifically the two hot plates and single kitchen counter. "What's for dinner?"

"Pasta," Niall says while turning the dial to start reheating the pot. He'd just finished up preparing dinner when Louis had knocked earlier. It's maybe a bit cute, to see how serious Niall takes the evenings when it's his turn to cook. Especially since he's utter shit at it.

"Yum," Melissa replies and there isn't a trace of sarcasm.

All talk of work suspended due to Melissa's presence, Louis relaxes and grins, relieved he can enjoy their simple happiness, bask in their easy love. The stars might not have it in the cards for him, but that's okay.

This is fine.

This is enough.

+++

Harry hasn't been in London for almost a year, has avoided the entirety of europe as much as possible, only the most lucrative of jobs getting him to leave LA.

He wasn't even doing a proper job there, mostly going out for kale smoothies and exclusive parties for the hell of it. He'd half-arsed a fortune 500 member into a long con but instead of sealing the deal he'd withdrawn once the relationship had reached the point where intimacy was imminent.

Not that he'd been living like a monk, either. There were plenty of nameless hook-ups at parties or, on occasion, in a nightclub's bathroom. Sex isn't the problem, never had been. Intimacy, that's the problem. At least since --

Right, he'd trained himself not to think about that.

It's weird, being back in London. He'd visited his mum first, Gemma second. Old acquaintances and crew members had reached out to him, offering jobs. But he didn't need a job. A job was the reason he was back here.

No not just any old job. _This_ job.

When Niall Horan contacted you, you didn't say no. And even though Harry had been about to do just that, Niall had casually dropped Louis' name and Harry had accepted.

He isn't even sure why. They'd had a great run, their Venice stay -- perfect. Harry had learned long ago to end things when they were good, because time would inevitably turn good things bad. That was something he'd definitely tried to avoid with Louis.

What he hadn't expected, was the aftermath. Usually, he didn't much think about his hook-ups after he'd broken it off. But somehow, Louis had wormed his way under his skin. That loud personality that only emerged once he'd observed you quietly. With his quick humour and warm, ice-blue gaze. That alone had apparently been enough to unsettle Harry's normal MO, Louis' curvy little body sealing the deal.

He checks the number against the address Niall had texted him. It's a high-rise, with at least twenty different names on little plaques in the front entrance. There's a little info desk with a perky looking twenty-something sitting behind it, professional smile on her face.

Harry slips into an easy grin and pats down his knee-length coat. It's not rumpled, the heavy wool far too expensive to do anything as gauche as wrinkle. But it does draw her eye to his stomach and thighs. It wouldn't do to get rusty.

"Hi love," he says softly. "I'm here to see Mr. Horan."

Her smile doesn't falter but Harry does this for a living. If he couldn't read people, couldn't spot the moment they don't buy whatever he's selling, he wouldn't be a grifter.

"Let me just check the computer for any appointments he might have mentioned."

Before she can even start typing he interrupts her, leaning his weight on his arms crossed on the counter and bringing his face closer to hers.

"Ah, see," he mock whispers to her. "You won't find me in there."

He scans her quickly for clues, but her get up is too professional to be of much help. There's always something, though. Always a clue for how to approach someone. He sees it out of the corner of his eyes; a bridal magazine hastily turned over to keep the page.

"It's a bit of a surprise. He's getting married soon and I am his best friend from childhood. He doesn't know I'm coming." Harry gives her his best innocent stare, infusing just enough shocked disbelief by subtly widening his eyes to make her squirm.

He knows he has her when she fidgets with the ball pen in her left hand. "I mean, I could," she looks around and lowers her voice. "I could let you up with a visitor's pass."

Harry smiles at her full force and signs in as Ronnie Wood.

Visitors badge clipped to his coat, he heads for the glass elevators, admiring the view of London on his way up to the 17th floor.

From scanning the orientation map downstairs, he knows there are at least three different businesses on this floor alone. His eyes skim over the signs, pointing out which direction he needs to take.

He walks down the wide hallway confidently, footsteps dampened on the soft carpet. It's mostly in the walk. If you look determined enough, like you're sure of your destination, people are far more unlikely to stop and question your right to be there.

He walks past the break room, a small kitchen area with the obligatory coffee machine, microwave and fridge. He makes a quick stop and pours himself a coffee. It smells foul, but it's not like he needs to drink it. Then he removes his visitors badge and coat, unbuttoning his shirt another button.

A quick check in the reflective surface of a nearby glass room divider assures him he fits in perfectly with everyone else here. Coffee mug in hand and a pencil carefully shoved into a messy bun completes the outfit. It's not perfect, but Harry knows attitude is by far the bigger factor, anyway.

The first guy he meets in the hallway gets a sure nod and a hastily mumbled hello and it's returned immediately. Harry smiles to himself, assured that he's still got it, and finally locates the little nameplate with 'Horan Consulting' engraved in it.

He doesn't bother to knock, just like Niall didn't bother to call down and mention Harry would be coming by, just pushes the door open with a flourish and steps inside.

He's greeted by a gorgeous brunette who, judging by the way she immediately turns her front to him and her back to the wall, is someone he probably shouldn't cross.

A guy with light hair cut short at the sides and a decently muscled body sits behind the receptions desk, fingers having paused in their frantic typing.

His starring must take too long, because the girl pushes off the wall nonchalantly and places herself between him and the guy.

"Heya!" he says in his most non-threatening voice. "Is Niall in? He wanted to talk to me."

"Who wants to know?" the girl asks, shifting her weight to her back leg.

He contemplates lying for a split second but decides against it. Niall must want them here, so they must have a role to play.

Instead, he goes with the truth, delivered with an disarming smile. "I'm Harry Styles."

The guys behind the computer starts coughing rather unsubtly and looking down at his screen, cheeks tinged a rosy colour.

The girl steps forward and, somehow, without even touching him, effortlessly directs him through a door. It's in the way she holds herself, and Harry wonders if she would maybe teach him one day.

The office they enter is big but furnished in a quiet sort of understated manner. The couch on one side as well as both chairs by the table are genuine leather and the finishes are a dark wood throughout.

A blond haired young man is sitting reclined in a chair, feet on the desk and hands behind his head. He's leaning so far back, he's staring at the ceiling.

His gaze drops the moment they enter unannounced, the slight frown on his face smoothing out into a wide, genuine grin.

"Harry," he greets, as though they've know each other for years and not just through hearsay or what they managed to dig up secretly. He lets his feet thud to the floor and jumps up, moving around the desk quickly to shake Harry's hand. "How was the flight?"

Harry takes a moment to decide what game Horan is playing. There's no immediate tell to give anything away but usually those only emerge in moments of stress. He's a bit surprised to reach the conclusion that Niall's actually being genuine.

He smiles back and smoothes down his hair. That is _his_ tell and a surefire way to know he's unsettled, just a bit. It's not Niall's friendly grin and sparkling blue eyes, not really. Maybe it's because he's the exact opposite of what Harry had expected a mastermind with severe criminal tendencies to look like.

Maybe it's the girl still standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the back of his neck, making it prickle.

Niall gestures to her. "You've met Soph? Sophia Smith?"

Harry turns and sticks out his hand. "We haven't been introduced, no."

She looks at his outstretched arm as if her mere glare would be enough for him to back down. Well, she's out of luck. He's met plenty of arseholes and has made it a sport of bending them to his will with an aggressive niceness he stores up for just such occasions. He smiles at her brightly, knowing his dimples are out. Most women are already putty in his hands by the simple expediency of him not looking down at their breasts. Sad but true. Not that boobs aren't nice, because they are. But so are many things.

She breaks first, grabbing his hand and giving it a firm shake. Her fingers tighten until Harry swears he can hear his bones scrunch together. He tries to keep the whimper of pain out of his voice and fails miserably. "Hitter?" he guesses in a squeaky voice.

Niall claps him on the back. "How'd you know?"

Once free, he flexes his fingers surreptitiously, waiting for the pain to subside. "Oh, lucky guess."

Sophia just smirks. She's clearly not buying it, while Niall looks relaxed to the point of being oblivious.

"Come on, sit down. Do you want anything to drink?"

Harry shakes his head and takes the offered seat while Niall plonks down in one of the armchairs. Sophia stands just off to the side, slightly behind Harry where she's bothering the edges on his vision and slowly driving him insane. He has no doubt it's intentional.

"Did you meet Liam yet? He's our tech guy. Liam!" he shouts in the direction of the open door.

Liam enters moments later, cheeks still ruddy. The introductions are short and unofficial like before and Harry smiles, gaze dipping for just a second and yes, he'd been right. Liam has a fantastic body.

They shake hands but Harry doesn't linger in the warmth of Liam's palm. He pulls back when Sophia shifts, her relaxed stance turning into something more purposeful.

Liam sits down, completely oblivious. "When's Louis coming?" he asks and only years of grifting prevent Harry from letting any of his tells show, body completely relaxed. He allows his toes to curl in his shoes, because he needs an outlet and because he knows it won't show.

"He's not," Niall says and his demeanour changes. Gone is the smiling blond irish guy, replaced with something sharper, something that comes closer to his reputation. "He's out on a job."

"Alone?" Liam questions immediately, leaning forward. "I should be keeping tabs on him. Make sure he's okay."

Harry secretly agrees, but Niall just waves the concerns off with one hand.

"Okay," he says, voice serious. "We've booked you a suite in the Carlton Tower. Hope that's to your liking? We weren't sure if you had your own place, or under what name you'd be traveling. But they don't much care for your name if you can pay for the suite, ey?"

Liam must misinterpret his look because he's quick to jump in, "all expenses paid, of course. I've got an order confirmation on my desk for you."

Harry isn't about to turn down a hotel where the rooms start at around 1500 pounds a night. So he gives Liam a quick smile before nodding for Niall to continue.

"Tomorrow at eleven we'll have our briefing, here in this office. Please don't be late. We'll try something small together first, just to iron out the kinks. I'd like to keep you guys mostly in the dark, to see how you work under pressure and how cohesive a unit you can be. It will be nothing that could cause us any problems, of course." Niall waits and when no one complains, he continues. "Once that's complete, we'll move on to our real target." He leans back, fixing him with a long stare before he continues. "If at any stage you need to tell us something because it poses a risk, do so in person or over the coms. No talking about anything regarding the plan over any sort of phone, always assume the lines aren't secure. Liam?"

Liam digs a little container out of his jeans pocket. Inside it is a tiny earbud which he holds out for Harry to take.

"Range is limitless as long as there's wifi or cell reception, it'll piggyback on those and get rewired to ours. It's not too good with water so make sure to take it out before you shower, Louis burns through these at two a week because of it." Liam takes one out of his ear, an exact replica of the one Harry is holding. "No on and off button, as they are permanently on. However, they require the vibrations of your skull to transmit sound correctly, so the moment you take them out you'll have your privacy. That also means we can't hear what you hear properly. Only what you say, yeah?"

Harry rolls the little gadget in his palm before gingerly placing it in his ear, watching Liam do the same with his.

"Hello?" he tries.

"Hi," Liam says from right in front of him and also inside his ear.

Harry raises his eyebrows at the quality of the sound. "These are excellent."

Liam flushes again, ducking his head. "Thanks. Designed them myself."

Harry's eyebrows rise higher. It's not often he underestimates people, but clearly he'd just done so with Liam.

"Right," Niall says, clapping his hands gleefully. "Anything else you'd like to know or tell us?"

Harry thinks for a moment before shaking his head.

"Okay, then I'll see you all tomorrow, yeah?" Sophia and Liam are already at the door when Niall calls him back. "Can I have a quick private word with you, Harry?"

Harry shrugs and closes the door behind Liam and a slightly irritated looking Sophia. He leans back against it, crossing his ankles and adopting a nonchalant pose. He can guess what's coming, it's only to be expected.

Niall looks him straight in the eyes, gaze hard but not challenging. "If the history between you and Louis is going to be a problem, I'll need to know that. Immediately, is that clear?"

Harry drags his hand through his hair, buying himself some time before he needs to answer. "It's not going to be a problem."

Niall doesn't drop his gaze. "That's lovely to hear, but it's not what I asked."

Harry stares back before averting his gaze. "I'll let you know the moment I think it might compromise the mission."

"Not to be splitting hairs here, but I'll probably need to know before then."

Harry smiles, can't help liking Niall. "Yeah. Sure thing, boss."

"Get out," Niall says with a laugh, rolling his eyes like he's heard it all before.

+++

The Carlton suite is everything he expected it to be; a large sitting room with several plush couches. It opens into the adjacent bedroom on one side and into a small study on the other. The bathroom is nothing more than magnificent, it's center a raised bathtub that could easily hold four.

Harry undresses slowly once room service brings him a 2002 merlot and some candles. He puts on some classical music, the soft notes of Chopin drifting over the speakers spread throughout the suite. The candles get arranged strategically around the tub while it fills with water, the lavender scented bath oil tickling the back of his throat pleasantly.

He lives a pretty hectic lifestyle, never in one place long enough to settle down. So he's learned to make himself feel at home wherever he is. If it's not the same place, then it's the same music, the candles he can get anywhere, the routine. That makes him feel at home, not the shape of the bath or the width of his bed.

He submerges himself slowly, water just this side of too hot. Almost immediately the muscles in his back loosen and he notices how much tension he carried around all day.

It's just an unusual situation. Never before has he done a job with someone he'd once been involved with. Usually the people he's involved with _are_ his job. And okay, so he'd expected to see Louis today, and maybe it had put him on edge that his expectations weren't met. He'd expected to know by now where they stood, but now he'll have to wait another twelve hours to find out. It hadn't bothered him in months, but for whatever reason, tonight is different.

He thinks of the little earbud he'd carefully placed on the nightstand. He could put it in, maybe find out if Louis was wearing his. They could talk and Harry would know where Louis' head is at. He could prepare himself for tomorrow. But he won't, has more self restraint than that. Instead, he slides his hand down his stomach and groans when his fingers wrap around his half hard cock.

It's just another way to relax, yes. Just another familiar routine.

+++

"Lee-yum," Louis wines while crawling into Liam's lap and wrapping his arms around his neck. "You should be nice to me."

"Why?" Liam asks, angling his neck to look at the huge screen behind Louis' head. Louis pouts. "It's not really your birthday."

And shit, right. For some reason, Louis keeps forgetting that Liam knows more actual facts about his life than anyone else in the world. Bloody hackers and their access to bloody everything.

Louis leans back, fingers interlocking behind Liam's head and letting him take the brunt of his weight. "It shouldn't have to be my birthday for you to be nice to me."

Liam smiles his gentle puppy dog smile, the sides of his eyes crinkling. "And you shouldn't try to tell people seven times a year that it's your birthday."

"Mmh. But I like presents."

Liam snorts. "You buy yourself enough presents."

Louis' playful pout slips off his face. He clamps his knees tighter around Liam's middle and holds his head between both his hands. Then he gives him a deep long scowl until Liam starts shifting uncomfortably.

"Have you been spying on my bank accounts again?"

"It's not spying, it's quite literally my job."

"Your job is to watch my money? Funny, I don't remember hiring a banker."

Liam rolls his eyes but still places his hands on Louis' hips when he's about to slide off. "No, my job is to make sure that everything is safe and sound from the tech side of things. That includes suspicious activity on your accounts."

Louis' eyebrows rise all on their own. "Suspicious activity?"

"Don't worry," Liam says and twists his lips in a rather dirty little smirk. "The credit card charges to your favourite sex shop don't count as suspicious."

Liam looks almost smug after delivering his line. Louis is proud of him, it took him long enough to get that particular side of Liam to emerge. But it wouldn't do for the student to outshine the teacher.

He leans in, mouth close to Liam's ear as he whispers, "if you're interested in my dildo collection you should have just said. You know I'll show them to you whenever you want. Privately."

He can feel Liam's cheek heat, even if he can't see it.

And then he hears a drawling voice, which cuts off abruptly when Harry walks into the room. He stops in his tracks, some sort of smoothie clutched tightly in his large hand, knuckles turning white around the cup.

"Oh. Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."

Louis might be a lesser man for admitting it, but the uncomfortable look on Harry's face, paired with clear signs of jealousy are like soothing balm to his heart.

He wraps one arm around Liam's neck and slides the other one provocatively down Liam's side. He feels the muscles jump under his touch.

"You weren't," Louis says easily, cuddling closer to Liam. And it's a testament to how long Louis has been doing this and how second nature it has become to Liam when he wraps one arm around Louis' back easily. Louis thanks all his lucky stars and the hours and hours of subtly getting Liam used to human touch.

It had been fun at first, seeing him flinch whenever Louis so much as touched his arm. After hearing parts of Liam's back story, of how he was not unloved but still neglected as a kid and bullied in school, Louis had made it his mission to get him to stop flinching. It had been a bit of a surprise for both of them when it turned out Liam was actually a huge cuddler.

The fact that it now fueled some sort of jealousy on Harry's part was just an added bonus.

"We were just talking about my dildo collection and Liam's unerring interest in it."

"Louis," Liam wheezes out, cheeks tinting even darker.

Harry's entire face shuts down completely.

Louis couldn't have planned for a more perfect situation and he will damn well make the best of it now that the universe has presented him with such an opportunity. It's petty and it makes him a shitty person and right now, he couldn't give two flying fucks.

He wouldn't be where he is today, doing the job he does, if he wasn't able to capitalise on what he had been given.

So he leans in to pinch Liam's burning cheek first, his nipple second. "No need to be so embarrassed, love. I'm sure Styles here has seen a dildo once or twice in his life before."

Louis cuts a look over to where Harry stands rooted to the spot. He looks. Well, he looks good. Skin-tight jeans and a striped coat, paired with a long scarf almost trailing the floor. It should look ridiculous but doesn't. Instead he looks good, the arsehole.

He raises a sardonic eyebrow and yes, Harry blushes at that. Of course Louis doesn't really know what's going on in Harry's mind. If he did, maybe there'd be less resentment festering inside of him. But he knows one thing for sure; he can't use his favourite vibrator without thinking of Harry at least once, a quick flash back to their hotel room in Venice, the mirrored ceiling that managed to look classy instead of gaudy. Both of them sweaty and sticky because this wasn't their first round today and wouldn't be their last, while filth fell from Harry's mouth and Louis yanked on his hair, unsure of whether it was meant to shut him up or egg him on.

Harry clears his throat. Then he points over his shoulder. "I'll just wait out here, give you two some privacy."

"Harry!" comes Niall's cheerful morning voice from just outside. He claps Harry on his back, effectively stalling his exit.

Harry looks from Niall to where Louis is still perched in Liam's lap, his expression pinched.

Louis cuddles closer.

Sophia walks in behind them, dressed in all black, the look topped off by a black leather jacket and high heels. She looks fantastic, and Liam doesn't miss it either. Louis feels his muscles going rigid under him and pats his shoulder comfortingly.

She greets Niall with a quick nod. Liam gets an upper arm squeeze that has him freezing up completely. And then she leans in to kiss Louis' cheek. He preens at the special attention, smiling brightly.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, darling. Love the bracelet."

She looks at the bracelet he gave her for christmas last year and nods. "It's pretty."

Louis nods in agreement. He never told her where he got it or how much it's worth and Sophia never asked. She isn't dumb. He's on the payroll as a thief, after all. And anyway, Louis doesn't usually steal for anyone but himself, so the bracelet definitely had a personal note.

The same goes for Liam's back door into scotland yards database. Instead of stealing something, Louis had planted the little virus on their servers instead. But considering he'd had to break into the headquarters for it, he still feels it has enough of a personal touch. Liam had certainly appreciated it.

After quick hellos and Sophia very pointedly ignoring Harry, something Louis is totally on board with, Niall gathers them all around, looking at each of them like a proud mother about to send her children off to university.

"Well, it's good to finally have the gang together."

Liam and Sophia groan in tandem. Louis glares at Niall immediately. "Shut the fuck up, Ni. That's bloody offensive."

Louis twists around in Liam's lap, accidentally almost kneeing him in the balls. He presses back against his chest and wraps Liam's arms forcefully around his torso, all the while muttering under his breath about how Niall is a loser stuck in third grade.

He settles back against the hard lines of Liam's chest, entwines his fingers with Liam's larger ones and rests them against his stomach, underneath his shirt. When he's comfortable he looks up, all three watching him.

"What?" he snipes.

Niall looks patient as ever, supremely unhurried and ready to indulge Louis' every whim. Louis gives him an extra long smile.

Sophia is just looking on fondly, the way she does when she sees them interacting like this. He winks at her. It's enough these days. Enough to remind them both of the hour long conversations they'd had about Liam's behaviour, his inability to get physically close to people without getting nervous and fidgety.

Harry looks -- well, either he's gotten himself under control, or, after the first shock had worn off, he'd noticed that while Louis is very tactile with Liam, the sexual charge to these touches is somewhere around zero.

Louis snuggles in closer and suppresses a smirk when Harry's hand twitches almost imperceptibly. Almost but not quite.

"The plan?" Louis prompts and nods magnanimously at Niall.

Niall grins. "Right! The plan. The plan is to steal a large amount of diamonds from a huge corporation that pollutes nature, doesn't pay minimum wage and gives it's CEO's a new business car every six months."

"Oh goody," Louis says.

Harry looks at them all incredulously.

Niall nods at Sophia who pushes aside a gaudy painting of dogs playing poker to reveal the huge high tech screen hidden behind it. She hands Niall the remote and moments later, a 3D blueprint of a building with several floors appears.

"If everything goes according to plan, this will be pretty easy."

Harry clears his throat and Louis clutches Liam's fingers tighter in preparation for that slow, deep drawl. "What if it doesn't go to plan?"

Niall's happy expression doesn't falter. "Then we switch to a backup plan."

"Oh?" Harry asks, leaning forward now. It stretches his shirt open and Louis imagines he can see a flash of a silver nipple piercing. "How many are there?"

Niall thinks for a moment. "I am currently up to plan K."

"What happens in plan K?"

"You die in plan K," Niall tells Harry, still smiling brightly.

"Ooh," Sophia drawls. "I like plan K."

Harry shoots her a hurt look before getting himself under control again. How he ever manages to convince his marks of anything is a mystery. Then again, he did have Louis convinced that what they had was more than sex.

"Its likelihood is only around one percent," Niall assures Harry before turning back to the screen. "Okay. Basically the diamonds are kept in a vault at the center of the building on the seventh floor. Apparently it's a lucky number. There's motion and heat sensors, the combination on the digital keypad changes every thirty minutes and there are two guards stationed out front. That's not considering the other guards that patrol the building at all times. Everything is furthermore covered by security cameras with at least one guard in the tech room watching the feed twenty-four hours a day."

Niall pulls up an invite on the screen then. It's to a diamond exhibition held on the ground floor of the same building at the beginning of the coming month.

"Because having money is nice, but showing money off is even nicer, the cooperation is holding a diamond showing to ‘wow’ potential new investors and to maintain the relationships with all the international buyers around the world. Basically this is a get together of the who's who in the international, illegal diamond trade."

"But it's a public company?" Sophia asks.

"Yeah," Liam rumbles from behind Louis, his breath tickling his ear. "About ten percent of their dealings are legal, which gives them the perfect front for all the equipment and security. That also means that only roughly ten percent of all the diamonds present at any time are insured."

Liam finishes his little speech by shifting, like the eyes on him make him uncomfortable. He tightens his arms around Louis though, making sure he doesn't slip. Louis squeezes his fingers comfortingly.

"Which means," Niall says, easily pulling all eyes back to him. "If we steal all of the diamonds, they'll have a loss of ninety percent." His grin is a bit manic when he looks at them, but Louis is so on board with this. He cheers appropriately.

"So uhm," Harry starts, brow furrowed. "What's the actual plan, then?"

"Oh, right!" Niall fiddles with the remote. Sophia leans over and presses it until the blueprint is back on screen. "We all know that during a function, security is extra tight. On special evenings, everyone is on their best behaviour after all. We also know that the weakest point is always when goods are in transit."

Louis nods and pointedly ignores Harry's incredulous gaze. "You want to steal the hundreds, maybe thousands of diamonds on the way from the vault to the event downstairs?"

"Nope," Niall says, happily popping the p. "By the time they open the viewing cases downstairs, we'll have exchanged them with plastic beads instead."

It's kind of fun watching Harry try to contain his confusion. "But didn't you just say that the vault is basically impossible to break into?"

"I did," Niall agrees, rolling on the balls of his feet. "But we also have an ace up our sleeves."

"And what's that? Do we have a team of secret agents at our disposal?"

"Nah," Niall says while bringing up the floor schematics of the twenty-seventh floor. "We have something much better. We have Louis Tomlinson."

And if Louis preens at Harry's incredulous look then so be it.

"The head of security has an office, here on this floor. He's got a safe in there, and in that safe is an external hard-drive which carries on it all combinations to the vault for the coming week. Also, there's an overwrite for the safety deposit boxes inside the vault, which holds the actual diamonds. Liam?"

"If you get me that hard-drive, I'll have that combination in approximately eight minutes."

Niall nods. "Louis?"

Louis leans forward, as though he's examining the floor plan. He doesn't need to, because not only has he seen it before, but he's also gotten detailed information on the make, model and age of the safe. "Seven minutes to crack the safe. Plus, however long it takes to send it down to Liam via the elevator."

"Can you get out undetected?"

Louis grins. "Is the pope catholic?"

+++

Thirty minutes later everyone is in on the plan and they're hashing out the details. Everyone, except for Harry.

"That's fucking absurd!" he very nearly shouts, pointing at Louis while glaring at Niall. "He's good, but he can't get to the twenty-seventh floor on a day when security will be extra tight. Not to mention they'll be doing rounds on that level as well. And all of that in under ten minutes!" Harry's gaze shifts to him and he's definitely reached the angry stage some time ago. "I am not putting my arse on the line, just because you don't have your ego under control!"

Louis jumps up, faintly registering the soft oof that escapes Liam at the sudden movement. He takes the two steps into Harry's personal space and pokes his index finger into Harry's chest. "Watch it, Styles," he hisses. "Don't make assumptions about either my skills or my ego. You clearly have no idea what you're talking about in regards to either."

Harry narrows his eyes. He takes a step closer, forcing Louis to pull back his hand or end up sliding it all over his chest. "It can't be done."

Louis widens his stance and realises too late that it actually makes him appear even shorter. The small, sardonic smirk playing on Harry's lips suggests he's noticed, too.

"Why don't you worry about your job in all this, and let me do mine in peace?"

Harry looks seconds away from ripping his hair out. "I studied the jobs you did. You're good, but not that good."

Louis sucks in a breath and takes a step back. "You studied me?"

"Uhm, well. I studied all the jobs you guys did." But Harry looks uncomfortable now, so Louis doesn't believe him for a second.

"You," he says through gritted teeth, walking right up to Harry and shoving him, hard. "Don't know a thing about me, Styles."

And then he does what he's best at in situations like this; Louis walks out, leaving behind his worried friends and a shocked looking Harry.

+++

Louis jolts awake to insistent banging. It's half three and someone is attacking his door, like they'd be able to tear down the heavy wrought iron monstrosity. The thought alone is ridiculous, as it takes almost all his strength to slide the five inch thick contraption open.

The reason for his slightly elevated heartbeat isn't due to fear of someone entering without his express permission, or at least before unlocking the door first. It's just that he's never had visitors before. Sure, three people know where he lives, but that doesn't mean he's invited them over for tea and crumpets.

He likes his personal space to remain, well, personal. And anyway he hates crumpets.

"Louis!" comes the muffled shout from outside, no doubt echoing down the hallways. Good thing he hasn't got any neighbours. "Open up, I know you're there!"

So, four people now know where he lives. And Harry apparently doesn't believe in phonecalls.

Louis rolls out of bed and pads towards the banging. He shivers when his naked feet step from the thick persian rug and hit the cold concrete floor. He's told himself time and time again to lay out more. There's several around his bed and desk area, even paving the way to the bathroom.

The room's vastness, the open space he loves so much, the high ceilings and construction beams overhead that culminate in his own personal play and practice area, are usually things he adores. Hearing his own footsteps echo off the distant walls now just leaves a tiny flame of regret in his heart that he squashes ruthlessly even before reaching the door and unlocking it.

The banging finally stops when Harry hears the heavy deadbolt being pushed aside. Louis braces his feet and leans his body in, fingers wrapped around the cold handle. The wheels gain traction and the door slides back languidly, revealing Harry's lean form.

The light from the bedside lamp is too weak and far away to illuminate his face, but Louis doesn't need to see it to identify Harry's scowl.

"Why the fuck do you sleep in an abandoned warehouse?"

"Why the fuck are you here?" Louis asks back just as snippily. He still steps aside to let Harry pass before sliding the iron door closed again and securing the locks, though.

By the time he turns around, Harry has wandered into the hall, heading towards the only source of electrical light, offset by the moonlight streaming in through the window panes lining the upper part of the high walls.

Harry misses a step, stumbles and automatically pushes out his hand for something to brace against. He only encounters air but still manages not to fall on his arse somehow.

"Are you drunk?"

Harry whirls around, pointing his finger at Louis dramatically while walking backwards. "It's Nialler's fault!"

"Nialler?" Since when does anyone call him Nialler?

"That's the one," Harry says, nodding furiously. He spins around, too far, and swerves back before resuming his walk towards Louis' bed.

Heart suddenly racing for an entirely different reason, Louis wants him anywhere but there. Images fill his mind before he can stop them, of the last time both Harry and a bed were involved.

"What do you want?" It comes out more harshly than he intended but he's glad for it, makes this easier.

Harry, the bastard, doesn't stop until he reaches the low lying futon. He stares at Louis' rumpled sheets. Then he starts toeing off his boots.

"What are you doing?" Louis all but shrieks. He'd been asleep three minutes ago, his brain is not equipped for this.

"Don't wanna get the pretty carpet dirty, do I?"

Louis watches him struggle to get his right foot free before the words sink in. "That's a persian rug."

Completely ignoring Louis' statement, Harry frees his foot and almost topples over before going to work on the second one. Once he's stood there in only his socks, he looks up at Louis.

There's words of praise on the tip of Louis' tongue. The innocently proud expression on Harry's face prompting the almost pavlovian response.

But Louis bites his lip instead, scowls at Harry until the hopeful glint in his eyes dies.

That's right. Harry is one hell of a con artist, not because he's particularly conniving or cunning. Instead he pulls people in with a genuineness that overwhelms. Louis has no doubt that the majority of his success lies in the fact that Harry himself is convinced of the truth in the lies he's telling.

Louis crosses his arms in front of his chest. He wants to crawl back underneath his duvet and preferably wake up to a world where Harry Styles isn't the newest member of his team.

"Why are you here?"

Harry shrugs, then takes off his heavy coat. It's only slightly damp considering he'd been walking through London without an umbrella in the middle of the night. Louis can see the soft sheen of dewey water coating the high thread-count material.

Harry carefully drapes it over the nearby office chair, the one Louis likes to spin in, maybe kick his feet off the ground to propel himself across the concrete floor. One of the reasons besides laziness why he hasn't put down rugs everywhere.

Harry turns to him. It takes him a moment to focus his gaze on Louis. "Wanted to chat, didn't I?"

Louis shivers slightly. It's no doubt the crappy heating in this place. The heating bills during the winter months are astronomical, so he turns it down as much as possible. "At this time of night? What about?"

Harry gesticulates wildly, body swaying under the movement. "I wanted to make sure."

"Sure of what?"

"That Niall wasn't lying, of course."

Louis' scowl deepens. "Of course."

Harry looks around, peers into the darkened corners of the warehouse, of Louis' _home,_ like if he squints hard enough, he can see in the dark. "So is it true?"

Louis curls his toes into the rug, trying to warm them. He's tired and cold, a combination that does not improve his mood in the slightest. "Is what true?" he bites out.

Harry gives him an exasperated look, like Louis is being obtuse. "That Liam and you aren't together."

Louis narrows his eyes. "We aren't friends, Styles. Hell, I can hardly stand you right now. Why the fuck would I need to answer that?"

Faster than Louis had expected, Harry steps forward, warm fingers encircling Louis' upper arms. His eyes are serious, with a touch of desperation. "This is important. I need to know."

He shivers, no doubt from the sudden heat on his cool skin. It takes everything in him not to jerk back. Louis is faster than Harry by a long shot, but strength wise Harry's bigger statue has always given him an unfair advantage. If he wrenches back now and Harry digs his fingers in at just the right moment, the fact that Louis is trapped will be apparent to them both.

So instead, Louis glares up at Harry's unsteady gaze, affecting superiority with every part of his body. Harry might be a grifter, but Louis is a natural people person and he's learned early on in his life how to still use his smaller stature to his advantage. Also, starting right off the bet with the first foster family, Louis learned that his quick wit and sharp tongue would keep most of the bullies at bay. He'd only perfected it over the years.

He lets one eyebrow raise while he pops out his hip. It's not easy to look down at someone who's taller than you, but Louis manages.

He grins, not friendly in any way, before questioning softly, "why? Would it bother you if we fucked? I'll be honest, the thought crossed my mind about two seconds after meeting Liam." Harry's face turns from slightly desperate drunk to something stormy, something real. He wouldn't stop now even if he could. "I won't lie, Styles. I've thought about Liam above me, holding me down, giving it to me and making me moan from the stretch of it more than once."

Harry shakes him and it's the perfect time to wrench free. Only Louis doesn't, instead deepens the dirty smile that's made its way onto his face.

He's about to open his mouth, see how far he can push until Harry reaches his breaking point, when exactly that happens. Harry wrenches him close enough that their chest collide, a furious scowl on his face now.

Harry has never scared him, not once. But Louis likes pushing people, maybe that explains while his current predicament of being caught up in Harry's arms isn't so much upsetting as it is thrilling.

"Tell me," Harry says in a low voice, almost a growl. "Now."

"Fuck. You," Louis responds, grin turning slightly manic.

Harry lets out a shout of frustration then, pushing Louis hard in the direction of the bed. But Louis doesn't spend half his free time up in the rafters for nothing. He could catch his fall, only he doesn't want to. He wants to keep pushing Harry. He wants to make him hurt like he hurt Louis.

And so he goes down, landing on his downy duvet until moments later Harry is on top of him. He's panting hard, his hair coming loose from the bun and framing his face in a tangled mess. Harry has the most ridiculous hair on the entire planet and Louis would like nothing more than to knee him in the balls for it, just on principle.

But he can't because Harry has trapped one of his legs between his thighs, squeezing tightly. He wraps both of Louis' wrists in one large hand. With the other he slides his free palm up Louis' torso, over his collarbones and stopping to wrap his fingers loosely around his neck.

Louis wriggles. A thrill shoots through him when his movement is considerably restricted now. He isn't sure if he could break Harry's hold right then, not without playing dirty.

In a mesmerised stupor Harry strokes his thumb over Louis jaw and bottom lip. He doesn't seem to notice how Louis' breath stutters at the soft caress. "Please," he whispers, voice raw. "Please tell me."

He looks at Harry hovering above him, gorgeous face framed by a halo of hair, expression sad and desperate. And suddenly he doesn't want to see it anymore. "I'm not seeing anyone."

Harry's head drops to Louis' chest in relief. For a moment, Louis thinks this is it; this is the moment Harry will finally tell him why he decided to break it off. What they'd had was something special and Louis still doesn't understand, never has.

Instead, Harry raises his head, scowling. "You did that on purpose this afternoon!"

And okay, that's quite enough of that. Louis takes that moment to break free from Harry's grip and in the same movement roll him onto his back. He climbs on top of him and leans down until their lips brush.

He has to cross his eyes to glare at Harry from this close but he does it anyway, watches Harry go pliant under his grip. "You should fuck me," Harry whispers. "Now."

"Shut the fuck up, Styles, and put that mouth to better use."


	3. Chapter 3

+++ Now +++

Louis is pacing the hotel hallway. Harry and Sonya have been inside forever, and he can just imagine what is going on in there.

In a mix of shock and disbelief he’d fled the party, pursuing Harry. Harry, who'd veered so far off script, he was basically in an entirely different movie. Chatting Sonya up is one thing. Following her to her hotel room is an entirely different one.

It’s not like Louis is _jealous_.

That would be insane. But it does sting a bit, especially after the other night where Harry might have been drunk, but apparently not drunk enough for sex. And they’d fallen asleep a tangled mess of sweaty limbs, both too exhausted and spent to care much about it. The moment Louis had opened his eyes the next morning, he’d collected all of Harry’s things and deposited them, along with a very sleepy and confused looking Styles in front of his door. So ok, they’d had sex, that happens, right? And Louis has no sort of claim on Harry, doesn’t _want_ that. But seeing Harry flirt so effortlessly and successfully sucks, especially after being the last person Harry slept with.

Louis stops mid step. He had been the last person Harry has had sex with, right? It had only been a few days, but. But Harry wouldn’t, would he?

And just like that the jealousy that definitely wasn’t jealousy is replaced by affronted anger.

Anger, Louis can handle. Anger towards Harry Styles, _that_ he’s good at.

Trying to control his breathing, he turns and stomps down the hall again. He hears Sophia in his ear, even Niall's mumbled command to stop.

But he doesn't.

"Badger game, then," Niall says. "Soph, get ready. Louis, give her your camera."

Louis pulls out his camera phone and unlocks it.

Fuck, Harry deciding to do his own thing has really fucked them over. What's more is his com has been silent ever since he left the party downstairs. In all likelihood, he removed it on the way up, not even giving them a way to communicate with him. It doesn't stop Niall, who launches into an explanation of how this is going to go down.

"He's not wearing his com," Louis hisses.

Niall stops. "You can't know for sure. He could just not be talking." And then he continues his explanation, like they haven't all known this particular con since starting their career. Hell, you don't even have to be a proper con artist to pull it off.

And anyway, Louis knows Harry can't hear them. He never shuts up, not during sex, and not in the time leading up to it, but he thinks it best not to share that with the others right now.

Louis contemplates barging in, pulling Harry off Sonya, maybe punching him for being such a dick. That would be rash though. And apparently, Harry has the monopoly on that.

"Where the hell are you?" he tries to keep his voice low. Speaking while wearing nothing but an earpiece is bad enough, he misses the comfort of talking into a phone. But maybe it covers the slight whine in his voice, too.

"Calm your tits." The voice comes both over the little contraption in his ear as well as from around the corner. Sophia appears a moment later, a vision in a black pencil skirt and some real fucking diamonds. She looks like a million bucks. 

At least someone has some style, Louis thinks grimly. He's had quite enough fakeness for one day.

Sophia gives him an unsubtle once over before raising a perfectly penciled in eyebrow. "You look a right mess," she says in her raspy voice. Despite himself, Louis tries standing up straighter, smoothing down his tie, where he had been crumpling it moments before with a nervous hand. "It's only been ten minutes."

"Fifteen," he says through clenched teeth, holding out a copy of the key card. He'd swiped it on the way up here, easy, because the entire hotel staff was trying to do their best to accommodate everyone's wishes. He gives her his phone too, camera app already started. Then he impatiently motions for her to get a move on.

Sophia takes both. "I think fifteen minutes to come up with an entirely new spin on this isn't bad. Niall must've at least considered Styles going rogue."

Louis can't do more than nod. He doesn't care why Harry did it or why Niall so readily had a back up plan. Maybe calling it a back up plan is too generous, though. After all, the badger game is the oldest con in the book. They came here to steal Sonja's diamonds as a practice run to the proper heist, and that's exactly what they'll do. Thanks to Harry's improvisation it will all go down louder than anticipated but that can't be helped now. Louis just wants Sophia to go in there already, play the cheated wife and extort Sonya before she gets her hands down Harry's pants.

As though reading his mind, Sophia smirks at him. She inspects the phone for a second. Her fingernails are painted a deep red and Louis has no doubt the colour is called something like _'blood of my enemies'_.

She takes a deep breath, flicking her long dark hair over her shoulder. "How do I look?"

"Sweet," Louis says without thinking.

Her grin turns decidedly feral. She takes a deep breath, pressing the key card against the doorknob. The tiny light turns green and she pushes the heavy door open, striding in with confidence.

Louis leans his head against the hallway wall and grins at her first shrieked, "what the fuck do you think you're doing with my husband?!"

+++

Thirty minutes later, Louis is sitting in the back of a padded bread delivery van. A trickle of sweat rolls down his spine because of course the fucking thing doesn't even have a window and is apparently insulated to withstand siberian winters.

Niall is up front in the driver's seat while Liam will wait for Sophia. Finalising deals in the badger game takes time, no self-respecting con artist goes through with it only to fudge it at nailing down the actual blackmail.

The back door of the van opens, a welcome gust of cool air rolling over Louis' flushed cheeks.

Harry crawls inside, pulling the door closed behind him and thumping against the wall behind where Niall is sitting. The van's engine starts moments later.

"There's space up front," he snipes.

"It's better if I'm not seen with Niall." Harry talks in his slow drawl, mouth slowly curving into a dimpled smile. Louis looks away. "Also, I like it in here."

"You like it sweaty, disgusting and smelling of bread," Louis deadpans, extending his hand against a cushioned wall when Niall takes the first corner. "Why am I not surprised?"

Harry's dimples deepen and Louis decidedly does not notice the state of his previously pristine suit. His tie is missing and his shirt is unbuttoned basically to his navel, the butterfly clearly visible. There's scratch marks down the center of his chest. Not that Louis notices. Nope.

Harry shifts, cupping his crotch and rearranging his dick. He pulls his hand away and Louis can't help the incredulous intake of breath. "Are you hard?" And maybe it should be embarrassing how shrieky his voice is, but he's too indignant to care.

Harry shrugs. "A bit."

Louis splutters. "She was ancient!"

"She wasn't," Harry says, a touch defensive. "She was nice. Felt a bit bad, if I'm honest."

"You do know what her husband did, right? The money we're getting isn't even a fraction of what he made by cheating others."

"Yeah, I know." Harry shifts again when the van stops for a moment, pulling off seconds later. His trousers look uncomfortably tight. "But she was nice."

Louis rolls his eyes, for a moment he wonders if he possibly broke something from straining so hard. "She was well aware of his business dealings. Also, she was nice because she wanted into your pants." He points at the red marks on Harry's chest. "Or into your chest cavity. Hard to tell the difference."

Harry looks at his chest, then slowly drags his eyes up Louis' body. "Maybe you should kiss it better."

Louis snorts, moving to the farthest corner. The move turns decidedly ungraceful when Niall takes another sharp corner and it slams Louis face first into the cushioned floor, arse sticking up.

Seconds later, he feels warm hands encircling his hips.

People who think Harry Styles moves slow clearly haven't seen him going after something he wants.

"Or we can get right down to the fucking, if you prefer."

Louis gets his hands underneath his torso, twisting away his lower half. He shivers when the warmth from Harry's large hands leaves him. He doesn't mind though. He doesn't want Harry's hands on him, and it's too damn hot in this van anyway.

"Dream on, Styles."

Harry pouts ridiculously, managing to look both like an overgrown toddler and a young gentleman of leasure, ready for debauchery.

Silence fills the enclosed space, Louis resolutely ignoring Harry's hand returning to his crotch. It's less a move of getting comfortable and more of a stroking motion intended for relief. Louis swipes some sweat from his brow, the heat in the van stifling. He mentally strikes any sort of bread from his diet in the coming week, just on principle.

Suddenly, the van jerks sharply to the left and Harry careens into Louis' side. Before Louis can open his mouth to complain, he hears it.

Sirens.

The next moment Niall accelerates, the momentum pressing Louis feet into the door.

"Do you," Harry starts and licks his lips. "Do you think that's for us?"

Louis mostly ignores the thrill that shoots through him at that thought. "I know what you're doing, Styles."

Harry leans in, warm hand cupping the side of Louis' face. Niall is still taking corners at a breakneck speed and it's causing them to wobble back and forth. It should be comical, laughable. Instead the air between them crackles with electricity and Louis' lips tingle from where Harry keeps dropping his gaze to them, the side of his face burning where Harry's hand still rests.

The confident smirk from earlier in the night is gone, as is the cutely dimpled one. It's replaced with red-bitten lips and glassy eyes, a certain desperation to them that shoots a frisson of want up Louis' spine.

They're flung sideways again, but their eye contact never breaks.

Harry licks his lips again, gaze dropping to Louis' mouth. "Please," Harry murmurs. And they're too close, too intimate, their breaths mingling in the tiny space left between them.

And _fuck it_ , Louis thinks, before closing the gap.

Harry's groan vibrates against his lips and Louis presses in closer, fingers curling around the expensive lapels of Harry's suit. The kiss is heated and dirty right off the bat, Harry's tongue pushing into his mouth insistently. Louis lets him, sucks on it in punishment.

Louis knows Harry can move quickly, especially when it comes to undressing himself, but he's still impressed when moments later, his fingers encounter smooth skin, the tiny bump of the barbell piercing through Harry's left nipple a welcome distraction from all the smooth, inked torso.

Louis leans down and takes the other nipple between his lips, teeth worrying that piercing, too. Harry's hands falter from where he's pushing down his trousers and pants, cock springing free but his hands returning to Louis' head, holding him in place.

That won't do, not at all, so Louis pulls back slowly, barbell still between his teeth.

"Fuck," Harry moans, free hand squeezing around the base of his dick.

Another quickly taken corner and Louis tumbles to his back, pouting at the loss of the nipple. He's quickly appeased though, when Harry kneels next to his head and leans forward to unbutton Louis' trousers. It brings his scratched chest right up to face level and Louis wastes no time in attacking the red marks with his teeth and lips, sucking bruises into them.

By the time Harry's chest no longer looks like he was attacked by something with sharp claws, and more like something with suction cups, Harry has completely removed Louis' clothes from the waist down. They make quite the pair, with Harry's top half bare, dick jutting out between hastily unbuttoned trousers and shoved down pants, gorgeously long and hard.

Harry shifts them into a proper sixty-nine position, Louis still flat on his back and Harry propped above him. Harry guides the tip of his dick to Louis lips, sighing when Louis obliges greedily and lets him slide in over his tongue.

Harry is pretty big and Louis has to concentrate, actively push down his reflex to gag when he comes close to his throat.

He can't help it, splutters and pushes Harry's hips off.

"Don't --" Harry says gruffly and catches both his wrists between his larger hands, pinning them down. He looks a bit ridiculous like this, upside down and flushed but Louis can’t bring himself to mock Harry right now. It might have something to do with the heavy cock bobbing mere inches above his face.

He twists his wrists but Harry's grip just tightens, grinding them down into the padded floor of the van.

"No," he says, voice raspy and deep. "No, please. Let me -- I'll do that thing you like if you let me. Please."

" _You_ like that thing I like."

Harry doesn't deny it. He can be a right arsehole but he's always wonderfully polite during sex. Incoherent, sure, but unerring polite when he strong arms Louis into sexual favours.

Louis smiles, struggling just because it's hot when Harry tightens his grip yet again, leans more weight onto Louis' wrists and grunts at the effort of holding him still.

"Fine," Louis agrees, tilting his head back so Harry's cock can slide into his mouth more easily.

He doesn't do what they're about to do all that often, and even less with someone of Harry's admittedly impressive size. But he knows he can, has done so before, and this position is conveniently the best for it. He makes a mental note to nick Harry's wristwatch later anyway, as he strongly suspects Harry planned it like this.

He licks his lips and relaxes his jaw, letting Harry feed him his cock slowly. His hips thrust shallowly, pulling out before hitting the back of Louis' mouth. The soft movement of his hips doesn't waver when Harry leans down and slips his hands under Louis' bum. His fingers already spreading Louis arse and tilting his hips forward. He completely forgoes Louis' cock and goes straight for his hole, gives it one good hard lick.

Louis groans, thighs tightening around Harry's head. He tucks his legs in closer, a wordless plea for more. It aches when Harry clutches him tighter, digs his fingers into the softness of his bum. As payback, he hollows his cheeks and sucks until Harry groans.

"Can I? Like -- all the way?" Harry asks and kisses the inside of his thigh. Louis can't see him, not with Harry's cock in his mouth and his head angled backwards. He hums his agreement instead, pleased when Harry's smooth rhythm stutters.

Louis clears his mind and relaxes his throat. It's not like he doesn't have a gag reflex, because he does. But as with many things, he's taught himself to suppress the uncomfortable feeling.

So when Harry pushes in again, slow and steady and without stopping, Louis closes his eyes and swallows. Harry slips in deeper, all the way.

Not giving in to his impulse to gag is taking up most of his faculties, but Louis still feels a smug sort of satisfaction when Harry starts rambling above him, forehead pressed to Louis' open thighs, hot breath wafting over Louis' hard dick.

"Fuck you're -- that's so fucking amazing you have no idea."

Harry pulls back, just in time. Louis is choking and coughing the moment his throat is empty again. It only prompts another expletive from Harry's mouth. He slides his long fingers over Louis' throat, leaves them there when he pushes his dick back into it.

"You're the only one who's ever let me do this and -- and fuck if it isn't the most amazing thing. Take my cock so well, got no problem with it, do you?"

Louis can't retort, not like this. But he can hum, causing his entire throat to vibrate and for Harry to groan above him, biting the inside of Louis' thigh in retaliation.

There's tears in Louis’ eyes from the effort of not choking, but it gets easier each time. Harry quickly builds a dirty, hard rhythm that has him clutching at Harry's hips, clawing the skin there and pulling him in, _wanting_ him all the way, wanting to be the one to do this for him. And when Harry's mouth goes back to rimming him, Louis loses all sense of coordination. It's just a constant repeat of Harry pushing in; into his throat and into his arse and it's mostly Harry's moans and eager fingering of Louis' hole that get him quite this bothered, to the point where Louis could come with a single stroke.

Harry leans up, probably to see, and his thrust go from deep and hard to sloppy and erratic.

"I'm gonna -- I'm gonna. Can I?"

Louis has no idea what Harry is asking, but he wants it. Wants to see him lose it just from thrusting into Louis' throat for two minutes, like a fourteen year old getting head for the first time.

Harry tenses above him, and Louis can feel him pulse as he comes, feels him press in deep for several seconds until Louis can hold his breath no more and pushes against Harry's hips. Harry grinds down deeper before pulling out, cock wet and still mostly hard.

Louis contemplates teasing him, sucking him back down even though he's too sensitive, when Harry's tongue is back in his arse. Two fingers join, pushing deep. The effortless ease with which Harry finds his prostate should probably bother him more, but in the end the pleasure shooting up his spine is just too much.

Rubbing his spot with hard little circles, Harry takes Louis' dick in his mouth and sucks hard.

There's an undignified noise clawing its way out of Louis' throat and he closes his teeth around the nearest thing. It so happens to be Harry's inner thigh. Harry jerks in pain but doesn't stop, and Louis ruts into him once, twice, before grinding down on Harry's fingers and coming so hard he almost blacks out.

They're sticky from the heat and the exertion when Harry flops down next to him. But Louis is feeling far too good to move. He leaves his arm next to Harry's and listens to his erratic breaths.

There's sweat running down his temple and pooling in his belly button. His dick tingles from where Harry's spit is drying on it and Louis doesn't care, just closes his eyes and lets a small smile play on his lips.

Harry props himself up on one arm and looks at him.

"What?" Louis croaks, squinting one eye open.

There's deep red blotches on Harry's cheeks and his hair is sticking to the side of his head in a sweaty mess.

Louis reaches up one hand and traces the redness of Harry's lips. His lips are dry but plush as always and Louis indulges himself, traces them once more. He drops his hand to his chest when he notices Harry holding his breath.

"Good?" Harry asks.

Louis studies him for a moment before nodding his head slowly.

"Not gonna talk? I love it when you talk after."

Louis rolls his eyes. "You just like to hear how scratchy my voice is after you’ve shoved your dick down my throat."

"I do," Harry confirms with a slight smile, fingers softly tracing down Louis' throat. "It wasn't too, uhm. It wasn't too much?"

"Nah," Louis assures him, happy to see the crease disappear from his brow. "Remember the second day in Venice? We did that three times in one day and I was fine."

It's out before he can stop himself and the soft atmosphere is immediately replaced with a tension filled silence. Harry clears his throat clumsily and Louis rolls away.

Where are the rest of his clothes, anyway? He pulls his pants and trouser closer and struggles into them, all the while avoiding eye contact with Harry. It had been a stupid idea, this entire mess. They'd had a clean cut, and while Louis had maybe been a bit hung up on it, he'd at least known that Harry had no longer wanted it.

This. This just confuses him. Now the question arises if Harry actually does want him, or just someone to get off with. And if he does want Louis, has he always wanted him? Why did he leave without a word in Venice then?

The jeans material isn't easy to get over his sweat slicked thighs, but somehow he manages, lying back down to do up the zipper.

Harry hasn't moved since Louis' accidental slip of the tongue, just watched Louis' every move.

"What?" he snaps, supremely wigged out by it all.

"I'm sorry, you know?"

A fist clenches around his heart and ice slides down his spine. He doesn't want this, doesn't need this. Hating Harry is so much easier than opening this entire mess up again. Louis isn't at all sure if he _ever_ wants to relive those feelings.

And it probably makes him a huge dick but he's not ready to accept Harry's apology. Right now he's also not ready for Harry's explanation of why he left him stranded and alone in Venice, too afraid of what it might be. So he does something else he's really good at; he deflects. "No harm done, Styles," he says easily, combing his fingers through his sticky hair. "You're not the first guy to make me deepthroat his cock and you won't be the last."

"That's not what I --"

"-- anyway, uhm. Have you seen my phone?" Harry scowls but obediently starts looking for it. "And jesus, put your dick away, would ya. We're almost there, I doubt Niall would recover from getting an eyeful."

They sort out their things, Harry finally getting himself dressed just as the van slows to a halt. Louis leans over Harry, inspecting a piece of paper on the other side. He holds it out, drawing Harry's attention to it by saying, "this yours?" Even before Harry's eyes fall to the piece of junk, Louis has already unlatched his wrist watch, masking the feeling of sliding it off by placing his hand on Harry's thigh for balance.

Harry flushes but is none the wiser when Louis discreetly deposits the watch in his back pocket. Now he'll just have to make sure Harry walks in front of him - the perv always checks out his bum - and he'll get away with it.

Moments after Niall shuts down the van's motor, they hear him fiddling with the lock before yanking open the doors. Bright lights from the parking bay spill into the darkened and stuffy interior and they blink owlishly for a moment.

It's hard to look inconspicuous, what with the hectic red blotches still high on Harry's cheeks and Louis' hair probably still looking like a bird's nest.

Niall looks at them suspiciously, taking a protective step away from the bread van. "Will either of you end up with a bun in the oven?"

Harry barks out a shrill little laugh, clambering out to high five Niall and saying, "baker humour. You're my kind of guy, Niall."

Niall turns slightly green under the fluorescent lights. "No," he says vehemently. "No, I'm really not." He wipes his hand not-so-discreetly on his thigh, pointedly ignoring them both.

Harry opens his mouth but before he can say anything Louis hops out, stumbling into him on purpose. "I swear Styles if you say anything along the lines of 'don't knock it till you've tried it', I'll have to kill you."

Harry pouts and Niall laughs, so Louis silently gives himself a pat on the back.

"Come on, then," Niall says, pushing them both forward. "We'll wait for the others in the pub, 's as good a place as any for a debriefing."

+++

Harry looks around dubiously. This isn't the sort of place he usually frequents. He likes his bars high end, likes to identify the richest among the rich and see if he can make them buy him a drink.

The bar Niall brought them too definitely doesn't have that kind of clientele. Apart from Niall and Louis, everyone seems to be living from one paycheck to the next, drinking away their problems in here.

A wooden bar spans one entire length of the room, clusters of tables and chairs, along with more private booths in the corners complete the setting. It's nothing fancy, quite the opposite. There's a guy on a barstool with a beard so long it's almost in his beer. He's barely keeping himself upright. The light isn't just comfortably dim but actually gloomy, soft blue plumes of cigarette smoke distorting the pool table in the back.

But Louis and Niall act like they know the place, Niall heading straight to the bar to joke with the bartender and order their drinks. Louis heads for a door off one side. The room beyond is almost entirely taken up by a poker table and Louis flops down in a seat like it’s got his name carved into the creaky wood.

Actually, Harry wouldn't be surprised if it did.

There's a white flipboard to one side and a dart board on the other. "Where are the darts?"

Louis looks over his shoulder, eyes lingering for a moment on the holes in the wall next to the board. "Have to hide them. Niall has shit aim when he's drunk." He gets up, quick glance to the bar assuring him Niall is still occupied. He easily vaults onto the table in the far corner. Harry watched him stretch up to the air vent. His gaze drops, because standing on tiptoes only accentuates Louis' legs in those pants. And his arse. Harry is only human, after all.

Louis pulls himself up easily, head disappearing into the vent. When he drops back down to the table, he's holding a small bag. He tosses it to Harry before replacing the grate.

Inside the bag, Harry finds the darts. He smiles as he takes them out and divides them evenly.

They're well into the first game, when Niall joins them, depositing their drinks on the poker table and flopping down into a chair.

"Found them, did ya?"

"Harry did!" Louis says with so much cheer Harry can't believe Niall buys it.

"He any good?"

"Nah," Louis says. He hardly takes time to aim, just tosses the dart and hits bullseye. "Think he might be worse than you."

Niall just snorts and watches Harry intently. He doesn't do stage fright, in fact has this insane urge to perform even the weirdest tasks if he's dared to. And if that isn't a dare from Louis he doesn't know what is.

Harry takes his time to aim, tries to concentrate on the weight of the dart between his fingers, on evening out his breathing. Moments before he releases the dart, Louis lets out a deep, throaty moan. His shot goes wide. Not off the board, but no where near the center, either.

He glares at Louis, who is sipping his beer like he's dying for it, lips wrapped around the bottle's neck, throat working.

And okay, this isn't fair. Harry's mind immediately goes back to the van. He feels himself flush, pants getting uncomfortably tight too. He sits down hastily, not wanting to give Niall an eye full.

Louis smirks knowingly at him before diverting his attention away. "Soph!" he says, genuine fondness colouring his tone. "Someone who might actually be a challenge. Come play with me, yeah?"

While Sophia joins Louis for the next round, Liam enters. He closes the door behind himself. Suddenly, the soft chatter from the patrons, the whirring from the fridges and the footie commentator on the flatscreen all cut off.

Harry raises his eyebrow. "Sound proof doors?"

Liam places a bag on the table and nods. "It doubles as our meeting room, so I had a few things installed."

Harry waits. Usually people will start filling the silence with chatter, making his job of getting answers out of them that much easier. But Liam apparently isn't wired like that, remains stoically silent while unpacking the bag and spreading it's contents onto the table.

"What if someone bugged the place?" Harry fishes.

Liam doesn't even look up from his work. "I sweep the place regularly. Also got a signal jammer behind that painting. There isn't a single signal leaving this room."

Niall shifts in his seat, taking another swig from his beer. "'S that why I never get reception in here?"

Liam shrugs, pulling the last suede box from the bag. He places it carefull next to the others.

"Melly's been right pissed about that! Thinks I turn turn it off on purpose, you wanker."

"If you'd've listened when Liam told us about the security measures the first time around," Sophia says, her voice going hard. "You'd have known all along. Now don't be a dick and get me a martini, please."

The red tinge from the tops of Liam's ears spreads its way down his neck, only to disappear in the collar of his v-neck shirt. No one comments on it, so Harry doesn't either.

Niall grumbles but gets up anyway. The sounds of the bar filter in for the few seconds it takes him to walk outside, before bathing them in silence once more when he closes the door again.

"That was a dangerous move you pulled," Liam says mildly. It takes Harry a moment to realise he's talking to him. "The plan was to keep her distracted while Louis searched her rooms."

Harry leans back and shrugs. "I was playing a hunch."

"A hunch?" Sophia asks. She directs her attention from the dart game to him, giving him a hard stare. "You didn't have a hunch, you were showing off."

Harry raises an eyebrow. "By what, pulling a fifty year old trophy wife whose entire self worth is based on her looks?"

"You know what I mean."

"I really don't. During our conversation she let something slip about how she isn't just in town for pleasure. It makes sense that important information would be linked to her phone and computer. Don't tell me Liam wasn't in there long enough not to clone it."

"I did," Liam confirms. "And we got the diamonds from the room safe. She didn't even bat an eye."

"All she cares about is her husband not finding out about another infidelity," Harry says.

Sophia plops down at the table when Niall comes back with her drink. She crosses her legs and holds the stem of the glass delicately. "But how could you have known that would be her main motivation?"

Harry shrugs and very pointedly doesn't watch Louis walk past him to sit down next to Liam. "I read people for a living. If I wasn't able to tell that sort of thing, I'd be a pretty shitty grifter."

"We still don't make those sort of decisions on the go," Louis says. "Not if it affects us all."

There isn't much to say to that, so Harry doesn't.

Louis looks at him expectantly, like maybe he's waiting for an apology. Considering today turned out more than satisfactory, Harry isn't about to deliver one. "So what's the haul, then?"

Liam sighs a long suffering sigh and starts opening the suede boxes. Each contains at least six sparkly diamonds, sorted by size.

Louis makes a little cooing sound and snatches one box right out of Liam's hand. He doesn't flinch, apparently used to this sort of thing. A jeweler's loupe appears in Louis' hand as if conjured out of thin air. He spends the next few minutes inspecting each stone, murmuring to himself appreciatively.

No one hurries him along, and Harry just enjoys the look of focused concentration on his face. Louis doesn't often get that absorbed with one thing for very long. Easily bored he usually flits from one topic to the next. But looking at these diamonds, it's like every fibre of his being, like every pocket of anxious energy is finally able to focus. It's riveting to observe and Harry doesn't even mind Niall's knowing smirk or Sophia's raised eyebrow.

He likes looking at Louis, and if they have a problem with that, it's theirs.

While Louis looks at the gems and Harry looks at Louis, Liam starts playing soft music over the loudspeakers.

It feels comfortable, easy. Like they do this often, and Harry is allowed a little glimpse into their world, to see how a group works that has been together for more than a year now, an absolute novelty in their line of business. And one of the most gossiped topics, too.

But he thinks he gets it now, seeing the easy smiles and comfortable touches. They let their guard down around each other, in a way Harry hasn't in years. So he definitely understands why they stick together.

He takes a sip from his beer, wondering what they do when things get boring and stale.

Three beers later, they've catalogued their hall, turned up the music and had three rounds of shots.

Or four.

Harry blinks slowly and his double vision recedes.

Probably four, yeah.

Sophia has climbed into Liam's lap during the second round and forgotten to get back onto her own chair since.

She grins drunkenly, her arms slung around Liam's neck. "What's the time?"

Harry automatically looks at his watch. Only it isn't there. "What the fuck?"

Apparently, this is hilarious because Sophia breaks down into uncontrollable laughter, the others following soon after.

Harry glares at Louis. "Give it back."

"Give what back?"

"My watch, you idiot." Louis' eyebrow shoots way up and the warmth leaves his eyes, leaving behind nothing but an icy stare. Harry changes tactic, because clearly this isn't working. He contemplates making up some elaborate story, but in the end, decides on the truth. "It was a present from my mum."

It's the right thing to say, because Louis sighs and gets up. He must have hidden it away while getting the darts, because he jumps back onto the table and extracts it from the hiding place.

Sophia pulls Liam up and starts dancing with him, either to break the slight tension or because it actually seems like a good idea to her drunk brain.

In a move that surprises exactly no one, Niall gets up too, dancing by himself like he doesn't even mind.

Harry goes over to where Louis is holding out his watch, hunched over on the table. Harry places his hands on Louis' hips, and in one very slow, controlled move gets him down.

Louis finds his footing and looks at him with wide eyes, still holding the watch out in front of him like it's a talisman that wards off evil.

Harry holds out his wrist, swinging his other arm around Louis' middle and starting to sway them to the beat. His thigh slides between Louis' legs practically on his own accord and Louis gets that far off look in his eyes, the one that he follows up with a moan if Harry does the right thing.

Harry slips his hand down Louis' back, slides it slowly over the generous curve of his arse and -- pulls him forward roughly. Louis doesn't moan, but he bites his lip when he's practically straddling Harry's thigh.

He glares at him instead, gaze darting to where his friends are still dancing, oblivious. Louis must retain enough higher brain functions because he manages to slide the watch over Harry's wrist and fasten it.

"Thanks," Harry murmurs in his ear, still pushing their groins together and getting off on Louis' helpless little pants against his neck.

"Didn't know it was from your mum," Louis says, lips sliding along Harry's neck in a way that'll have to make them change the subject if he keeps it up. Harry can't think of his family while Louis almost makes him come just from nibbling on his neck.

They're getting a decent rhythm going, grinding and panting against each other when a loud crash interrupts.

One of the boxes with diamonds inside must have fallen onto the floor when the others knocked into it while dancing.

The next second, Louis is gone, crouching on the floor and picking up all six diamonds carefully, like they might break.

“Well that was rude," Harry mutters. Only he's drunk and it must come out louder than planned because Louis shoots him a dark look while depositing the stones back on the table.

“Have you _seen_ these diamonds?" Louis asks tetchy. "They are gorgeous. Of course I won't let them lie on the floor.”

Harry narrows his eyes. The room is spinning a bit. Maybe he overdid it with the drinks. “What’s your deal with diamonds, anyway? You don’t seem like the type.”

Louis’ eyes narrow and he takes an unconscious step back. Away from Harry and closer to his friends, who've mostly stopped dancing now. “What type?”

Harry flaps his hands about. He’s not up to explaining himself right now. Hanging with this crew is quickly turning him into an alcoholic and being drunk makes him drop his guard, generally a bad idea in his line of work.

“The type to wear them,” Sophia interjects, shooting daggers at him while gently patting Louis’ arm. Harry pouts because this isn’t how things usually go. Usually, people love him almost instantly, but with Sophia and Liam and even Niall, it’s like they don’t trust him at all, forming a solid line behind his back, like he'd need their protection.

Harry wonders what Louis has told them about their past. Then he wonders if they might have a point.

“Oh,” Louis says, taking a wobbly step towards his beer, further away still. “Yeah that’s true.” He brings the bottle to his lips, gaze off in the distance. He lowers it, wiping the back of his hand over his pink mouth. Then he beams, his mood swings giving Harry a headache. “But do you know what you can do with diamonds?”

“Sell them?” Harry ventures, taking a step closer. He can’t even help himself, the shine in Louis’ eyes is just mesmerizing.

“No! Se --.” Louis looks at him and actually pouts. “Yes, sell them.”

“And then?”

Louis looks at him like maybe Harry is a bit slow. “Then you have money.”

“You do this for the money?”

Louis’ stare becomes more incredulous. “No? Who cares about money. But do you know what you can _buy_ with money?”

Sophia giggles and drags Liam to the dartboard, not bothering to remove his hand from her hip. Niall is no help either, smiling down at the photos on his phone, like he’d been doing for the past hour, still swaying gently.

“Uhm,” Harry starts. He grabs his bottle and fiddles with the edge of the label, can’t help but want to get this right. “Stuff?”

Louis looks at him drunkenly. Then his face breaks into a wide grin and he stumbles forward, hands on Harry’s chest. “Yes,” he says excitedly. “Exactly!”

Louis feels so good pressed against his chest like this, looking up at him with excitement in his eyes. Harry pulls him closer, sways them to the soft music again. There's less grinding, it feels almost magical.

And Louis goes with it, easy, like they do this all the time. He curls himself closer, head resting on Harry’s shoulder and fingers playing with Harry’s shirt. He pulls on the fabric until one of Harry’s nipples is exposed, which admittedly doesn’t take much.

For Harry, the nipple piercings had made sense; he’s got sensitive nipples and people tend to want to play with piercings. Win win. But Louis’ obvious fascination with them is intriguing, even with half his mind swimming in alcohol and his cock pleasantly hard from Louis pressing himself closer.

Louis drags one slow finger over his chest, pushing at the little barbell when he reaches it.

"Are you planning on getting other piercings?" Louis asks softly.

Harry shrugs, maneuvering them away from the others. "Not my face."

Louis' expression turns mischievous and he slides his palm down the front of Harry's shirt until he's cupping the obvious bulge in his trousers. "I wasn't thinking of your face."

"You're asking me if I'm planning on getting my dick pierced?" he asks, somewhat incredulously.

Louis doesn't say anything, just stares down to where his fingers are tracing the head of Harry's cock through the fabric, right where the piercing would be.

And okay, maybe Harry is considering it now, if the mere idea of it gets Louis this focused on his dick.

Harry lets him continue, swaying them to the music and watching Louis instead. The concentration on his face is similar to the one he showed earlier when examining the diamonds. Not quite the same, but close.

“I'm gonna go home,” Niall says suddenly.

They both start, and to Harry’s chagrin Louis flinches away from him, like he just realised what he’d been doing.

Harry tries to ignore the tingle in his nipple, the ache in his dick. It’s not easy, because when he’s not watching Louis, the room is spinning quite a bit now.

“I like breaking into people’s houses,” Louis says randomly, resting his head back on Harry’s shoulder.

“We're leaving to Paris the day after tomorrow,” Niall warns. "No breaking in while drunk, I don't have time to bail you out of jail."

“What?” Harry ask and wow, how did he manage to slur that?

Niall gets up, and somehow it’s a signal for everyone to start packing. Harry spins around slowly, already missing Louis’ body pressed close to his. Niall claps him on his back. “I’ll explain tomorrow morning. Liam, you got the flights?”

“Yeah, I can do that tomorrow.”

“Then it’s settled.” Niall says and Harry still doesn’t understand what’s going on. “Have a good night lads, and I’ll see you tomorrow. At eleven sharp.”

“Don’t call me a fucking lad, you Irish shit,” Sophia grumbles.

Niall just grins at her, like she couldn’t break all the bones in his body if she had the right motivation. Harry steps out of her way, just to not give her the motivation, either.

Louis scurries past and Harry’s hand reaches out reflexively. He waits a moment before saying, “wanna come to mine?”

Louis’ eyes widen and he takes a step back, his shoulders connecting with the wall. Harry steps in closer, hands landing on Louis’ hips, fingers worming their way between shirt and trousers to stroke the soft skin there.

“I hate hotels,” Louis says.

Harry shrugs, leaning closer and bending his head. His mouth connects with Louis’ neck and he gives him a soft, sweet kiss there. Louis shivers. “Or I can come to yours again,” he whispers.

Harry doesn’t know how it happens. One moment he’s got Louis backed up against the wall, shivering under his touch, and the next moment Louis is just -- gone.

“Can’t,” he says over his shoulder without actually looking at Harry. He reaches Sophia who is still waiting by the door and takes her hand, knuckles turning white at the tightness of his grip. Sophia levels her gaze on him and okay, Harry gets it. Louis asked her for help and she’ll take Harry’s head off before letting Louis down.

His mood plummets considerably as he sends an apology to his dick. This isn't how he'd envisioned the night to go either. It doesn’t get any better when he’s caught outside, waiting for his taxi, and the sky opens up. Within moments he’s soaked, making the ride back to the hotel a soggy affair. He’s feeling too cheated to even attempt taking a bath. He showers extra hot instead and vows that, should he wake up with an achy throat and stuffy nose tomorrow, he’ll so blame it on Louis.


	4. Chapter 4

The meeting had been... interesting.

Twenty minutes after starting, Louis had walked in looking sleep ruffled and soft and like he really could use Harry holding him up against a wall and fucking him utterly senseless.

No one had said anything when he'd sunk into his chair late, small hands wrapped carefully around a steaming mug of tea.

He hadn't looked at Harry once. Not while Niall explained their way in again, not while Liam talked about their security system. Sophia hadn't said much but even she'd looked at him once or twice.

But not a single look from Louis.

His mood not having been the best with five hours of sleep and a hangover from hell, it had steadily declined as he watched Louis systematically ignore him.

So when Liam had asked them to read out some of the names of the passports they had available for the flight, Harry had waited. When Louis had announced he had a Geoffrey Smith, Harry had been quick to interject. "I've got a Richard Smith."

Liam had eyed them speculatively. "No one would believe you're brothers. So I hereby pronounce you husband and husband." And then he'd proceeded to hack the airplane's flight manifesto and add them to the booking list. They'd be leaving this afternoon, heading straight to France.

+++

The airport is crowded, someone stumbles into his side while another person takes his moment of weakness to roll their luggage over the heel of his foot. Harry turns around and mumbles an apology. Then he hates himself for being British.

"Public airlines are disgusting."

Niall pats his back while they shoulder their way to the check in counter. "You're booked first class, don't worry."

Louis appears out of nowhere. "That's probably not good enough for Styles. He's used to private planes."

It's true, and looking around at the chaotic hustle and bustle, Harry isn't about to deny it. "Can't help it if people want to spend their money on me."

Louis snorts, pulling ahead and jumping on Liam's back.

"Where's your luggage?" Harry shouts after him, struggling with his own.

Louis jumps back down to his feet. "Oh shit. Almost forgot. I'll be right back."

And with that, he melts into the crowd.

"What's he doing?"

Niall steers them to a waiting area and they all fall into the seats. They watch the people shuffle by, while Sophia asks Niall about his girlfriend. It's a topic he's more than eager to talk about.

Liam has pulled out a tiny, tech looking laptop and is typing away on it furiously. That leaves Harry to watch the people, soak in the particular energy of excitement every airport has.

He doesn't know how long it takes, but he's ripped out of watching a dad with his small daughter by Louis walking right through his line of vision.

"What on earth is that?" he asks, pointing at the luggage Louis is pulling. It's mint green and basically bigger than Louis.

"Luggage?"

"Did you honestly just steal someone's luggage because you forgot your own?"

Louis struggles with the handle, finally managing to push it down. "I didn't forget," he says while flopping down next to him. "Anything I'd need to take would probably raise some eyebrows."

That causes Harry's eyebrows to raise. "Like what?"

Louis jumps up, all unbridled energy again. "Wouldn't you like to know, Styles." He claps his hands. "Let's do this."

They head to the check in, Harry pulling up next to Louis. "What kind of stuff?"

There's no line at the first class counter and they draw up to it simultaneously. Louis looks at him with a smirk and hefts his huge piece of luggage onto the scale. His arms snake around Harry's neck. It's difficult not to react to Louis suddenly and very expertly pressing his body against his own, but he manages somehow. Apparently, their game faces are now on.

"Looking forward to the holiday?" he asks, sliding the girl both their passports without taking his eyes off of Louis. On an afterthought he adds, "baby?"

Louis rolls his eyes so quickly, Harry would have missed it had he not been paying attention. "Well, _love muffin,_ it's about time we got our honeymoon." Louis turns in Harry's arms and addresses the girl. "We've been married for almost two years and this one hasn't taken time off of work until now."

She smiles at them warmly, professionally. "Better late than never. I do hope you have a wonderful time in Paris. It is the city of love, after all."

"It is," Louis agrees, dripping so much fakeness Harry is surprised no one calls him on it. Louis slaps his arse instead. "And this one is such a romantic, too."

The girl coos while efficiently fastening a label on Louis’ lost and found luggage.

Louis hefts Harry’s bag up for her next, pressing his back against Harry’s chest. “Almost set our flat on fire with all the candles he likes to set up.”

“Hey,” Harry says slowly. Louis’ arse is digging into his groin. He circles his hips slowly. “You liked it.”

The girl is eating it up. Louis on the other hand pulls away. Apparently, it’s ok if he does the flirting and the touching and the joking, but Harry isn’t allowed.

“Well I am sure you’ll have a wonderful time,” she tells them with a bright smile, handing them their boarding passes and passports.

“The best,” Louis chirps.

Harry catches his hand. It’s not like Louis can pull away right now, not after the show he put on. Louis’ look tells him he knows it, and that he'll make Harry pay for it later.

“You better hold on real tight to your wallet,” Louis says under his breath while they walk away from the counter. "And don't tell me it was a gift from your mum, too."

Harry smiles and squeezes Louis’ hand.

+++

“I hate this airport,” Louis says the moment they land at Charles de Gaulle. He looks slightly disgusted as he waits for his luggage to appear, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Why?”

“Oh,” Louis starts, like he hadn’t expected Harry to be listening in on his muttering. “They lost one of my bags, once.”

Harry spots his on the conveyer belt and pulls it down before turning to Louis. His stolen one hasn’t come around yet. Maybe that’s the real reason Louis no longer travels with his own bag. “Was it even yours? Or one from lost and found?”

Louis opens his mouth before snapping it shut again. “What’s it to you?”

“Aw baby, you know I care,” Harry says loudly. He steps in to hug Louis close, feels him squirm against his chest before settling in under the watchful stares of the people around them.

He looks up at Harry with adoring eyes. When he speaks, his tone is nothing short of murderous. “The moment we get to the hotel, this charade ends.”

Harry strokes a hand down his side. “I love you too, baby,” he says, not letting go.

They wait for everyone to collect their luggage and head outside, taking the first cab that fits them all. Harry is pretty pleased when he maneuvers it so he and Louis sit in the back. Sophia and Liam are both wearing headphones in the row in front of them, while Niall sits next to the driver.

It allows them a modicum of privacy and Harry isn't about to let it slip by. Especially since Louis had somehow managed swapping seats on the plane, so Harry had ended up next to Niall instead. Niall is a good guy, he really is. Fun and easy to talk to, but he's not the one Harry had envisioned sitting next to.

But maybe that's the problem; him having expectations about this -- whatever they have. Because he'd been pretty sure what they had was at least friends with benefits. But Louis had managed to ignore him spectacularly since their not-so-innocent dancing last night, playing along just enough to give outsiders the impression that they actually were a couple.

And since Harry had expected Louis to at least sit next to him on the flight, maybe hoped for them to join the mile-high club in one way or the other, and had gotten exactly none of those things, he thinks it might be time to talk about it.

And since Louis is a slippery bastard when he wants to be, evading his previous attempts of having this conversation, now seems like a perfect time.

It's not like Louis can slip out of a moving vehicle.

Probably, at least.

"Hey, Louis?"

Louis is distracted, fiddling with his phone. "Hmm?"

Harry takes a deep breath and decides to handle this issue head on. "Uhm. What exactly are we?"

For just a moment, Louis freezes. Then he laughs, the fakeness clear and bright in it. "A thief and a grifter pretending to be a married couple with a boring nine-to-five job?"

"No I meant," Harry shifts, running his hand through his loose hair. "Like, what are we doing."

Louis narrows his eyes at him, like he can't quite believe Harry is bringing this up now. Or at all. "We're getting a ride in a cab to our hotel in Paris."

Harry takes a deep breath. He doesn't mind being honest, knows how to play it to his advantage during a con. But this conversation is different, in a way he doesn't want to analyse quite yet. "I wanted to take you home last night, but you looked almost... frightened."

Louis snorts and returns his attention to his phone, texting furiously. "I'm not afraid of you," he says, a muscle twitching under his right eye.

Harry frowns. "I didn't think you were. But you do send me some mixed signals. And I just wanted to know where we're at."

Louis stops texting and looks at him incredulously. When he speaks, it's in a controlled whisper, anger clearly on the edge of tipping over into screaming territory. " _You_ want to know where we're at?" Without looking down, he presses a button on his phone, followed by the tell-tale sound of a sent message. The phone disappears and Louis turns in the seat to face him, eyes blazing. "I'll tell you where we're at. We're colleagues, who used to be a bit more, until you decided to leave with nothing but a fucking note, Harry, a fucking note! Now, by necessity, we are back to being colleagues. And we'll handle it as professionally as we can, before we can go our separate way again."

Clearly, Louis is still hung up about Venice. And okay, sure, it hadn't been the smoothest exit but sometimes, leaving had to be like removing a band-aid, quick and momentarily painful. But Louis must have been bottling it up, even though Harry had emailed him before taking Niall up on his offer, and Louis had seemed fine then.

Sometimes, Harry forgets that he isn't the only one able to tell believable lies.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, he says, "what do we classify the two times we've had sex since beginning this job, then?"

The moment Louis face shuts down, drowning out all emotion with a cold, hard facade, Harry knows it backfired.

Louis leans forward, speaking low and controlled and on the edge of violence. "Let me break it down for you. We clearly had different ideas on where this was heading back in Venice. And okay, to be fair, we didn't really talk about it. But you ended it, which is your right. Now stop stringing me along, Styles. You can't extort me and I will not supply you with the lifestyle you're used to. So just stop your games."

"But what about --"

Louis cuts him off with a harsh glare. "As for the two most recent times, they happened and I can't take them back, no matter how much I want to. So we'll just file those under 'huge mistake' and learn from it, alright?"

Harry feels a pout coming on. That -- well that had hurt. It might be shallow, but he's used to people wanting him. A rejection like this, from someone like Louis who is, well, who is so much more, that hurts.

He's about to retort, to make Louis explain, to make Louis like him.

But Louis is already tapping Liam's shoulder, removing his headphones and leaning over the seat to chat with him.

The moment is gone, and while Harry had wanted to know where they stand, he doesn't quite know what to do with the answer he's gotten.

He's on good terms with all his exes, something he prides himself on. Okay, so at least the ones he didn't steal anything from. Harry frowns, trying to think of some. But once he takes out the people he conned and the people that were nothing but a one-night-stand he's left with, well. He can't think of anyone right this second.

But surely people he's had sex with exist that he's still on good terms with? They must.

He's just resolved to bring the topic up again, maybe tonight when they're in their honeymoon suite and have some real privacy. Sex with Louis is kind of perfect, so he doesn't mind putting some work into it.

Mind made up he calms down considerably. He's got a plan, he knows what to do.

Fifteen minutes later, when the cab stops outside their hotel, that plan is shot all to shit.

Louis nothing short of pushes them all out of the taxi. He barely waits for the luggage to be taken out of the boot before he turns to the driver and speaks to him in rapid fire french. Moments later, they drive off.

“Where’s he going?”

No one answers as they head inside.

“Hey,” Harry says, louder this time. “Louis just left.”

“He does that,” Sophia says without turning around.

“But. But don’t you want to know where he’s gone off to? Wouldn’t that be important for, oh you know, our plans.”

Niall falls into step beside him, giving him a friendly pat on the back while they enter the air-conditioned lobby. “Look,” he says patiently. “Louis does that sort of thing all the time, okay? He needs his time to prepare, get his things together.”

“His things?”

“The stuff he needs for his job doesn’t travel well,” Niall says with a pointed look. “So he needs to kit up in every city, right? We just leave him to it usually.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, because of course Louis is a grown arsed man and able to make his own decisions. The fact that Harry doesn’t like it, is really no one's problem but his own.

+++

Louis doesn’t get in until 3am.

Harry jolts from his half doze, unsure of what woke him. Louis is annoyingly quiet in the dark room, like he's used to sneaking around places he doesn't know the layout of.

Harry reaches over to turn the bedside lamp on.

“Sorry Li -- Harry?”

Harry rubs his eyes. “Who did you expect? You didn’t fake marry Liam, Mr. Smith.” Louis drops a heavy black backpack on the ground. “Where’s your luggage?” 

“What?”

“Your luggage. From the lost and found?”

Louis waves him off, like Harry is being the insane one. “Back at the airport. It wasn’t really mine, you know.”

“Yes,” Harry says dryly. “I know.” 

Louis starts digging through his bag, pulling out some clothes. “What are you doing here?”

“In the hotel room?”

“Yes!”

Harry rubs his eyes again. “I’m sleeping? Well I was, until you came in.”

Louis huffs loudly and disappears into the bathroom. He comes out dressed in soft looking pyjama bottoms and an old band t-shirt. He’s fiddling with the cover of a complementary hotel toothbrush.

“Are those your clothes?”

Louis smoothes down the AC/DC logo on his chest. “Yes? Why would I wear someone else's clothes?”

“But you stole a bag earlier.”

Louis stuffs the toothbrush into his mouth, speaking around it. “I told you, I didn’t steal it. I gave it back, so it was only a loan.”

“Right. Because your stuff doesn’t travel well.”

Louis stops his furious brushing to lift up the sides of his lips and point at Harry, like Harry finally got it.

Asking outright doesn’t work too well, so Harry decides to take another route. “Do you have everything you need, now?”

“Obviously,” Louis says and returns to the bathroom. From the sounds coming from it, he's spitting out the toothpaste and using Harry's mouthwash to gargle somewhat obnoxiously.

"Now," he says when he comes out. He wipes his mouth on a hotel towel and drops it right where he stands. "Where's Liam?"

Harry sits up a bit, back resting against the soft headboard. The duvet drops down to his lap and the cool air hits his naked torso. "In his bed, I'd presume."

Louis doesn't move, just cocks his hip and narrows his eyes. He doesn't say anything and Harry knows it's a good tactic to get someone to talk. It's just a natural human need to fill the silence. He makes use of it regularly, he's not going to -- "why do you need to know Liam's whereabouts at three in the morning?"

"Because," Louis says slowly, "I am bunking with him."

Something ugly rears it's head in Harry's chest. "You're not doing anything with Liam."

Louis bares his teeth, stance getting more challenging. "Yes, I will. I will sleep in a room with him as much as I like."

Harry gets up and remembers too late that he's gone to bed stalkers out of sheer habit. Louis sends him a death glare, taking a few steps back.

"Sorry," he mumbles. He fishes out a pair of underwear from his stack of clothes and steps into them.

Louis is holding out one hand, the other one covering his eyes. He's also shaking his head, muttering to himself under his breath. "Just tell me what room he's in."

"I have no idea," Harry lies easily. He sleeps better with Louis there, they should definitely share their hotel room. None of this sharing with Liam thing.

The look on Louis' face says quite clearly that he doesn't share that opinion. Instead, he turns suddenly and heads for the door, Harry hot on his heels.

"Where are you going?"

"Are you deaf? I am sleeping with Liam."

Images flash through Harry's mind but he actively pushes them aside. "You could have phrased that differently," he mutters just as Louis pulls the door open. "And besides not knowing his room, you also don't have a key for it."

Louis spins on his heels so abruptly, Harry just about manages not to crash into him. "Well," Louis says roughly. They're close enough for Harry to smell his minty breath. He suddenly has the urge to lean down and run his tongue over Louis' teeth. "I'm a fucking _thief._ I'm pretty sure I'll manage to get into a hotel room."

He shoves Harry hard in the chest, causing him to stumble back. Enough for Louis to slam the door closed behind him. Harry gets his legs back under control and pops his head into the hallway, but Louis is nowhere to be seen. Harry is about to take a direction at random, when he notices his lack of clothes. He can't walk around the place in just his underwear, shit.

With a humph, he slams the door and heads back to his bed.

He can wait. Louis will be back.

+++

Fifteen minutes later, the door opens. Harry hurriedly removes the scowl from his face and tries to replace it with the sort of expression that would read as 'I told you so'.

It slips off his face when a blond head appears. Definitely not Louis.

"Niall?"

"Shut up yeah? I don't wanna to hear your version after listening to Louis prattle on for ten minutes." He falls face first onto the bed, not even bothering to crawl under the blanket.

Harry looks at him, starfishing on the huge honeymoon suite bed. "But --"

"Louis is sleeping in my room because it's a single and even he didn't have the heart to break up Liam and Sophia's sleeping arrangement. Now turn that light off, I need my beauty sleep."

Harry does so on autopilot. He keeps staring into the darkness until his eyes adapt and he can make out the furniture once again. At this point Niall has started snoring softly.

This is really not how he wanted the evening to end.

He sighs and settles back down. The bed is comfortable but no matter which way he turns, Harry just can't find a good position to fall asleep in.

It's not because he'd maybe been hoping to feel Louis pressed against him tonight. It's not.

+++

Opening his eyes the next morning immediately turns into a world of regret.

Niall is bent over, towel drying his hair. Unfortunately, that leaves his scrawny white arse sticking out for the entire world to see.

"This is not how I imagined this." He throws his arm over his face and resolutely doesn't look up again.

"Morning!" Niall chirps. "We're meeting downstairs for breakfast in fifteen."

"I lost my appetite."

Niall laughs, so at least he's in a good mood. Not that that comes as much of a surprise, seeing as he was snoring each time Harry woke up.

There comes the sound of clothes rusting. Harry doesn't look. He's scared enough as is.

The wet towel smacks against his forearm. "Then find it again because it'll also be our briefing."

Harry looks at the ceiling for a long moment. He wonders what he did in a previous life to deserve this. Eventually he rolls out of bed. Niall is busy blow drying his hair and it looks like a weird contortionists routine. At least he's dressed now, so Harry leaves him to it.

The hotel is upscale, not quite as good as the one in London, but decent enough. But the water pressure is perfect and the soap smells nice, citrusy and something softer, something he can't place.

While the conditioner is soaking in his hair, Harry looks down his sudsy body. He sighs at his half hard dick. If Louis would just make up his mind, they could be having such a good time right now. The bed is comfortable and the shower is definitely big enough for two.

Resigned to his fate for now, he slips his palm down his stomach, fingers wrapping around his length. His eyes slip shut as he lets the feeling wash over him; the tight coil at the base of his spine, the slight ache in his dick. Every stroke of his hand sends another shiver down his spine, washed away in the warm spray.

It's easy, imagining Louis stepping into the shower, naked and wet within seconds. The way he'd look up at him, a challenge in his eyes. Louis always makes everything into a challenge, right up to the point when lust finally drowns out all else. It's like a flip switch, and suddenly he's too focused to concentrate on being contrary or on testing Harry's limits.

It's an amazing thing to experience Louis' main emotion changing from whatever mood he's in, to simply being horny. It's not like Harry, who can be lowkey turned on for hours. No, something inside of Louis just reaches its limit and everything changes, the challenge in his eyes turning to something much softer, something desperate.

Once that look appears on his face, Harry knows he's won, knows Louis has given in and decided to do this.

Harry imagines it now, imagines the hunger washing over Louis' face as he stands in the shower beside him, watching Harry jerk himself. "Want some help?"

Harry nods frantically even though there's no one to see him. His forehead rests against the cool tiles and he closes his eyes to keep the water out.

It doesn't matter because in his mind's eye Louis dropped to his knees and with one last cheeky grin, he wraps his small hand, softly, far too softly, around Harry's cock and brings it to his mouth.

Harry's hand speeds up as he imagines the amazing heat that is the inside of Louis' mouth. He lets out a desperate sob when he remembers how it feels to slip deeper, into Louis' throat. The white hot flare of pleasure at the sheer tightness, the thought of Louis choking himself just to make Harry feel good.

People like to pretend that the person receiving a blowjob is in control. And sure, there is a certain amount. Harry can thrust his hips, can grab onto the back of Louis' head and hold it into place. But he's given enough blowjobs to know that point of view is flawed. When Louis swirls his tongue just so, when he hollows his cheeks and sucks hard, then Harry is the one at his mercy. Anything else would be a blatant lie.

His soapy hand is going at just the right speed, and he squeezes when he reaches the tip, swipes his thumb over the head and digs it into the slip. It's good, so fucking good, but --

It's not enough, not today. He fumbles with the body wash, coats his fingers liberally and brings one hand to his own arse. He leans forward again, face against the tiles, other hand squeezing the base of his cock before falling back into a sharp rhythm. He circles his hole, a desperate sound spilling from his lips at the sensation.

He doesn't tease himself for very long. Not once his mind supplies him with the image of Louis on his knees in front of him, sucking on the tip of his cock before pushing forward, swallowing around him until his nose is pressed into the curls at the base. He can just see Louis looking up at him, eyes teary and red, but with that triumphant look he gets when Harry becomes completely incoherent.

And then, Louis slips one hand around his hips. Or maybe between his legs.

Harry adjusts his stance, spreading his legs wider, imagining Louis reaching between them. Louis' doesn't tease, pushes two fingers in right off the bat, because he's a little shit that instinctively knows what Harry needs.

Harry gasps when he spreads his own fingers, pushes deep. It's futile, he knows. There's no reaching his prostate from this angle. But he still likes the feeling of fullness, the tiny sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine from his sensitive rim.

And anyway, Louis kneeling before him definitely has the right angle. His fingers find Harry's prostate in a heartbeat. He wouldn't brush over it thought, would probably tease by pressing down on it, increasing the pressure in Harry's groin until it'd be too much.

"Please," Harry chokes out, voice echoing softly in the tiled room, water slipping down his back, warm and perfect. One part of his mind, the part he isn't paying all that much attention to right now, hopes Niall doesn't hear him.

Not that he would stop. Not now.

The thing is, he's had sex with Louis a few times now. And he doesn't make a habit of begging his sexual partners, no matter who they are. But it had happened uncharacteristically often with Louis. Maybe it's Louis' reaction that turns Harry into a blubbering fool. Maybe it's the fact that usually, if he just begs prettily enough, he gets what he wants.

Either way, fantasy Louis merges with a version from his memories and he moves his fingers, rubbing over Harry's prostate. A phantom pleasure explodes inside of him and Harry groans loudly, the hand on his cock speeding up feverishly. Behind closed eyelids he grabs the back of Louis' head, snapping his hips forward in desperation. The movement is fast and rhythmic, broken only for the long seconds, hours, he holds Louis' head in place, cock buried deep in his throat. Louis starts to convulse, head pressing back against Harry's hand. He keeps him there a moment longer, revels in the pressure around his cock. Fuck, it's amazing, always is.

Louis pulls back, coughing and eyes brimming with tears. He glares up at Harry, strand of saliva reaching from his red-fucked lips to the tip of Harry's redder-still cock. One side of Louis' mouth quirks and he leans back just enough to show Harry how he's got a hand wrapped around his own dick. Then he leans in and suck on just the tip, while twisting the fingers still buried in Harry's arse and doing -- something.

Harry shouts, coming hard under the showers soft stream, before slumping over and breathing heavily. He stays like that for a long moment, hot face pressed to the tiles, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

When he finally opens his eyes, it's to the sinking feeling of being alone. Because of course there's no one there. No smiling Louis, getting up to kiss him. There's no need for Harry to reach out, to check if Louis is still hard or if he came already. It's not uncommon to find Louis' tummy sticky with come after giving Harry one of his insanely good blowjobs.

Some unknown feeling settles in his chest, want, maybe. Or regret.

He sighs loudly and straightens, taking a step back so the water can wash away the sticky mess from the shower wall.

He's still a bit weak-kneed, but he manages to finish his shower somehow. The afterglow makes shaving and moisturising go by in a blur and he manages to ignore the heavy feeling, breathes deep until it's just a memory.

By the time he exits the bathroom and heads for the hairdryer, Niall is no longer there.

It's almost meditative, directing the hot stream of air over his head, feeling his scalp warm up and his hair begin to dry. He's already late, so he slips into his clothes with still damp hair. It'll probably friz if he doesn't dry it completely, but he's in a mindset where that seems completely irrelevant.

He swipes a hair tie off the bedside table and places it around his wrist for later. Pocketing his phone and his wallet, he leaves the hotel room only five minutes late.

+++

Louis isn't a morning person, not until he's had his first cuppa. Or maybe his second.

He sits slumped in his chair, waiting for the tea to finish steeping. He can't wait to remove the bag and take his first sip, can practically taste it already. If he wasn't in public, he'd moan just thinking about it.

Usually he'd sit slumped against Liam or Sophia, but has decided against it today. There's a happy glow and a slight awkwardness to their interactions.

"I'm really glad you finally fucked," he says. He spares them only a short glance, just enough to see Liam's face turn an unflattering colour and Sophia's lips to perse. Her eyes sparkle though, like she can't decide which emotion she wants to go with.

But then he's looking back at the white china cup and the tiny floating tea bag island in the middle. Thirty seconds, and it'll be ready to drink.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Sophia reach for the salt. Her other hand pats Liam's thigh and she gives him a quick, reassuring smile. Liam's posture softens, less deer in the headlights and more besotted boyfriend. He gives her a lopsided smile and Louis returns his attention resolutely back to his tea.

He isn't jealous.

He loves them both. He's happy for them. It just stings a bit, is all.

Niall is no help either, hunched over his phone, dopey smile on his face.

Louis looks down at his tea. He loves his tea. It's a very uncomplicated relationship and his tea would never hurt him. Except maybe burn his tongue. But it would never leave him. Except if he spilled it. Or drank it. Okay, this comparison is clearly not getting him anywhere, but he doesn't need a significant other to be happy. In fact, his last potential significant other had managed to make him feel pretty shitty.

He looks up just as Harry enters the breakfast area. He's in dark jeans so tight, Louis would fear for the welfare of his dick. Only he doesn't, because he has no interest in Harry's dick. For all he cares, Harry can suffocate it all he wants. Harry's shirt is more casual today, a paper thin white t-shirt, dark tattoos peeking through the fabric.

At least it's not another shirt unbuttoned to the navel, right? Yes okay, so the t-shirt hangs off his shoulders in interesting ways, and for some reason Louis can't stop staring at the rings on Harry's fingers where he's clutching both his wallet and his phone in one hand. The rings are huge, like his hands, and contrast wonderfully with his long, thin fingers.

Louis rips his eyes away, squashing down the thin tendril of want uncurling in his stomach. Harry is a great lay, sure. but it's simply not worth the emotional upheaval he causes. A few years ago Louis would never have believed he'd be the one to want to settle down, the one to want more.

But then again, he was a complete brat a few years ago.

And Harry Styles isn't someone to settle down with, that much is clear. He's too charming, too in love with wrapping people around his little finger. He'd be bored in no time. The fantastic sex would only hold him for so long. Harry is like a wild animal; it's amazing to watch him prowl through life, fix on his pray and stalk it. But lock him up and all you see is the sparkle fade from his eyes. It would be sacrilege, destroying something so beautiful.

And Louis gets that, he does. And he's accepted it too, the only thing that really pisses him off is how quickly Harry can call those feeling forth in him. All he has to do is enter the breakfast area of a hotel, like now, looking like a rockstar on his day off, and Louis is ready to sell all his illegally acquired art and buy a suburban townhouse with a white picket fence and drive a soccer mum SUV.

Harry smiles as he slides into the chair next to him. His eyes linger on Louis, something like confusion hidden deep beneath their depth. His hair is still slightly damp, but it looks luxurious regardless, soft curls framing that cherubic face, dimples working overtime. His full lips are curved into a sinful smile, and suddenly Louis doesn't just want a house and a car and a dog. Suddenly he wants a big, soft bed, wants to spread his legs and --

"You're late." He sinks so much venom into that statement, the daydream dissolves like smoke in a breeze, leaving nothing behind but an acrid aftertaste.

Harry looks taken aback at the hostility in Louis' voice, the slight red tinge in his cheeks fading. That perfect smiles slips of his face, expression slowly hardening.

No, no, no, Louis thinks desperately. This isn't what he'd intended at all.

Once all humour has left Harry's face, he finds his voice. "You were late twenty minutes the last time and no one said a word."

"Right," Louis snipes back. "But last time, I didn't leave the others waiting to order food, did I?"

Harry's eyes sweep over the others, Liam and Sophia with their heads bent close together, Niall still engrossed on his phone, probably texting Melly. He leans back, folding his arms across his chest. "Could have ordered without me."

"That," Louis says, shoving a menu into Harry's hand and looking up to hopefully catch their waiters attention, "would have been rude."

Harry snorts. "Like you know the first thing about being rude."

A loud sound startles them both. He looks up to see Sophia's hand flat on the tabletop, having slapped it to get their attention. "Boys," she says softly, sweetly. The hardness in her eyes is barely covered by her easy, fake smile. "If you don't stop bickering, I will get very angry. And trust me, you do not want me angry."

Louis went to one of her karate tournaments just last month. Or was it judo? Either way, her opponents had gotten progressively bigger and meaner, while she fought and beat them all.

Louis wisely shuts his mouth.

Harry on the other hand doesn't look up from the menu when he mutters, "he started it."

Everyone around the table freezes. Louis holds his breath.

Sophia shifts in her seat. It's nothing major, but where she looked classy and elegant just moments before, she's suddenly radiating sheer violence.

Louis sees the waiter approaching out of the corner of his eye. The primordial part of his brain must be sending him some important messages because he stops suddenly and turns around.

Louis wishes he could do the same. Instead he looks down at his hands and doesn't move.

Sophia bares her teeth. "I don't care who started it," she says roughly. "But I will end it. Right now. I am not going to let you two bitch and moan at each other all morning until my good mood is used up."

No one says anything. Harry must have finally noticed the gravity of the situation because he just nods once and peruses the menu with a furrowed brow.

By the time the waiter returns, the mood around the breakfast table has settled down and they place their orders. Harry can't help but flirt while ordering his breakfast croissants, like the world would stop spinning the moment he wasn't the center of someone's universe.

"Was that really necessary?" Louis asks under his breath. He keeps his voice low in the hope that Sophia doesn't hear him. She's giggling at something Liam said, resting her forehead on his shoulder and pointing at Niall, who looks flustered.

"What?"

Harry looks genuinely confused, so Louis spells it out for him. "The flirting."

Harry's eyes furrow. "What flirting?"

"You and the waiter. Just now."

Harry's expression turns even more confused. "I don't think he was flirting?"

Louis rolls his eyes and takes an angry sip of his tea. "Not him, you dimwit. You."

Harry's brow unfurrows and one side of his face lifts into a smile. He looks like he just discovered blackmail material. "Are you jealous?"

Yes. Maybe. "No."

Harry scoots closer, large hand falling onto Louis' thigh. His fingers curl slightly, playing with the inside seam of his trousers. Louis looks at it, dumbfounded. The plain gold band they'd shoved on their fingers before entering the airport yesterday is still on Harry's finger. Louis hadn't seen it, distracted by the bigger, gawdier pieces adorning his other fingers.

"Don't worry, baby," Harry whispers. Louis feels him smirk against the shell of his ear when Louis can't control a shiver. "You know I'd never cheat on my husband. Especially when he's the prettiest thing around for miles." Harry's lips glide down his neck, soft kisses causing goose bumps to raise on his skin. For a moment, Louis leans in to it, Harry's hot breath and big hands so familiar on his body. So welcome.

The waiter returns with Harry's coffee, and reality comes crashing down around Louis. Right. He shoves Harry's hand off his thigh and scowls viciously at the pout he receives. Then he scoots his chair as far away as he can.

"So," he says in an embarrassing squeak. He clears his throat to continue in a normal tone of voice. "Any changes to the plan."

Niall puts down his phone for the first time all morning, expression turning serious. "Were you able to get all of your gear?"

"Yeah it should arrive in," he checks his watch, "half an hour."

Niall nods, picking up his phone again. "Then the plan remains unchanged."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry finishes his last bite of croissant. Unsurprisingly, the food had been exceptional, not that he'd expected anything less from a french hotel.

"That was delicious, thank you," Sophia tells the waiter as he clears their breakfast table.

Louis is on his third cup of tea, his toast going back mostly uneaten.

"Not hungry?" Harry tries. These days, he's never sure how Louis will react. And considering the definite shut down earlier, he's thinking baby steps might be best.

His question must be harmless enough because Louis just shrugs. "Can't eat too much before a workout. Makes me sluggish."

"Yeah?" Harry smiles, imagining Louis breaking into a bank on his free day and calling it workout. "Gonna fall asleep in an air vent?"

Louis' eyebrows furrow and for a moment Harry chides himself. But then Louis' eyes light up and a big smile appears on his face. It's such a simple response and yet it lifts something off Harry's chest. He wants to do it again, wants Louis to always smile like that.

Louis smiling this brightly makes Harry feel weightless, like he could take on the world and win. It's probably bad practice to give any one person that much power over his emotional state.

But right now, he doesn't care.

Two seconds later, he suddenly does. Because as it turns out, that smile wasn't because of him at all.

Louis stands up quickly, chair almost toppling over in his haste to get to his feet. He flings himself into the arms of an approaching man, and seriously, what the fuck? The guy is tall, broad shouldered and very, very good looking. He envelops Louis in a bear hug. Louis appears small in his arms, almost delicate in a way that doesn't sit right with Harry.

He crosses his arms over his chest, watching Louis wriggle happily in a stranger's embrace.

The hug finally ends, but Louis doesn't take a step back. He fiddles with the guy's collar before looking over his shoulder at their table. His grin is wide, infectious.

And Harry hates it. Not the grin itself, of course. But he hates how easily this good looking stranger was able to inspire it, when half the time Harry talks to him, Louis barely seems to hold back violence.

"Guys, this is Aiden," Louis introduces the guy, leaning back against his broad chest. Aiden's arm wraps around Louis easily, like they've done it a thousand times before.

Harry's teeth grind together and it's a conscious effort to unclench his jaw.

Aiden is greeted with a series of curious hellos from around the table. Harry remains silent, not sure what would spill out of his mouth if he opened it right now.

Louis pushes Aiden down into his own chair before sitting in his lap. He needs to stop doing that.

"We've known each other since we were nine. Did our first job together. This is Niall, Sophia, Liam and Harry." Louis points to each in turn. "And this is Aiden Grimshaw."

"Any relation to our Nick?" Sophia asks. 

Aiden shakes his head. "Nah. We worked together a couple of times, but that's the extent of it." He smiles easily around the table. "I've heard a lot about this crew. Can't believe I'm finally meeting you all. Though I'm not quite sure who you are? Louis hasn't spoken of you before."

He smiles easily at Harry. All Harry can do is stare at his hand, resting on the fleshy part of Louis' hip.

Louis kicks out, hitting him in the knee. "That's Harry Styles."

Aiden's expression brightens. "No shit? I've heard so much about you. I'm practically a fan."

It doesn't really appease Harry's mood, but Louis' face suddenly looks like he bit into a particularly sour lemon, which makes it somewhat better.

"Hey," Aiden says, big hand falling on Harry's thigh for a moment. "Were you really part of the National Palace Museum Heist in Taipei last year?"

"I was, yes." Harry agrees.

Aiden's eyes widen in happy glee. "Did you really steal that copied painting? That Qing Palace version?"

Harry knows which painting he's speaking of. _Along the River during the Qingming Festival_ , originally painted by Zhang Zeduan and copied by Qing Palace. Even though it is a known copy, it is still considered a masterpiece. And also a running joke in their line of work. "If you're gonna steal a copy, it better be Qing Palace's masterpiece copy" or "let's replace the original with a fake. Maybe it'll be famous, like the one by Qing Palace."

"Nah, the museum has over half a million pieces in its collection. Roughly one percent is exhibited and it's only had three complete inventories since 1984." He can't help himself, winks at Aiden. Louis scowls. "By the time they even notice some things might be missing, I'll probably be out of the game."

"Chilling on your own private island, no doubt."

Harry laughs, before remembering that he doesn't like Aiden at all.

Aiden nods happily, absentmindedly rearranging Louis in his lap and Harry's hand twitches. He jams it between leg and chair. "Why are you here?" he asks, voice neutral.

"Oh. I am bringing Louis his, uhm," Aiden looks around. "stuff."

"Right."

Aiden looks at him quizzically for a long moment before freezing into place. He lowers his voice, so only Louis and Harry can hear him, "shit, are you two. Are you two like together? You should've told me!"

Harry's first instinct is to pull Louis out of his lap and confirm Aiden's suspicions.

Louis laughs. "Of course not. Harry is -- just a friend." Aiden looks between them dubiously, so Louis continues, "we're just pretending to be married, it's our cover."

"Should you be sitting in my lap, then?" Aiden asks and it's the first time Harry agrees with him. Maybe he has some sense after all.

"Oh -- fine." Louis gets up. "Where's my stuff then?"

"Out in the car. Give me your room number and I'll bring it right up."

Louis does, striding out of the breakfast area without a single word or a backwards glance.

Harry can just see it now; Louis waiting upstairs in the single room he stole from Niall. Aiden dropping off his stuff, whatever that may be. And then Louis would shoot him one of his tiny little hungry looks, the little coy ones from under his lashes. The playful kind he last gave Harry in that hotel in Venice, and --

Hell no.

His chair scrapes loudly as he stands, following Louis out of the room and right up to their floor.

"What are you doing?" Louis is fiddling with the key card, finally deigning to talk to him.

Harry has no fucking idea. Losing his mind, probably. "Maintaining our cover story."

The door unlocks and Louis opens it by pushing his entire body against it. "Oh please, that was just for the flight and you know it."

Harry follows him. "Do I? As far as I am concerned, Niall makes the decisions here. And his last instructions were to look, and I quote, 'lovey dovey'."

Louis stares at him. "Wow. It must be fascinating to live in your world. Where you actually believe the shit you're sprouting."

"Don't be an arsehole, Louis"

Louis freezes mid step. "Excuse me?"

Harry inches closer. "You heard me. Don't be an arsehole. It's not nice."

Louis' mouth actually hangs open for a moment. Slack jawed and with wide eyes, he still looks attractive as all hell. He closes his mouth with an audible click. His eyes darken.

"You," he says in a low, menacing voice. "You do not get to tell me what's nice, you utter bastard."

He pushes Harry hard, hands on his chest. The doorframe digs painfully into his spine and he rolls away, into the room. "Fuck, that hurt."

Louis loses it. " _That_ hurt? That little nudge hurt you?" He comes closer, fury clear on his face. He pushes Harry again. "You utter bastard snuck out of that fucking hotel room while I was asleep!"

Ah shit. It hadn't been one of his finer moments. "I left you a note," he says defensively.

Something flashes in Louis' eyes and he practically screeches, "a note? You didn't leave me a note you piece of shit, you left me the word 'sorry' scrawled on hotel stationery."

Harry remembers tip toeing quietly through the beautiful and lavish hotel room, Louis curled up on the bed, hugging a blanket to him. Leaving hadn't been easy. But he'd selfishly wanted it, that perfect memory. He didn't want to marr it with the inevitable awkwardness of saying goodbye, maybe worse, of them fighting. At that moment, leaving had been the only sensible option he could see.

"I know. And I really am. Sorry I mean." Harry tries to find the words. But how do you tell someone that a clean, surgical cut is better than the rusty butcher's knife technique? "I wanted to avoid a fight."

In a bit of a surprise reaction, Louis doesn't explode at that. Instead he seems to curl in on himself while still standing upright. His eyes, burning with fiery anger moments before, suddenly look distant and emotionless.

"What is it?" Harry asks quickly. He takes a step forward so their booted toes touch. "What did I say?"

Life floods back into Louis' eyes and Harry can breathe again.

"Nothing," Louis brushes it off. "You're a gigantic pillock, though."

Louis' stubble rasps against his palm when he slowly slides it along his jaw, until his fingertips tangle in his ear. He tilts Louis' face back easily and stares down at his frown, his softly parted lips. Louis opens them further, ready to speak, but Harry interrupts him. "Hush now," he says, voice soft. "Let me just --"

Their lips connect in a gentle brush. Louis exhales brokenly, a soft shudder travelling up his body. He leans in closer, pressure of their lips firm, until he opens his mouth and pushes his tongue past Louis' lips.

Louis is such an enigma, toughened hardness one moment and malleable softness the next. He goes easily now, lets Harry's bigger body push him back. Each step getting them closer to the bed.

He doesn't kiss him harder, afraid he'll spook. Instead he teases Louis with quick little licks in his mouth, stroking tongue against tongue gently. Then he pulls back. It works. Louis presses closer, shoves his tongue into Harry's mouth instead, takes control of the kiss, and groans. 

They're by the bed now and Harry's mind is just cloudy enough that he needs to concentrate. He'll have to lower Louis gently, without him noticing. His hand falls to Louis' hip, fingers curling underneath the jumper and pressing into soft skin. Louis groans, low and throaty, his fingers curling into the front of Harry's shirt.

Two loud, precise knocks echo through the room.

Harry curses himself for jumping back like he was burned. Louis' expression clears and he steps away, out of Harry's reach.

"Come in," he says loudly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Aiden enters, big, friendly smile on his face and an even bigger bag over his shoulder. He heaves it onto the bed. It bounces.

"Got everything you needed."

"Everything?" Louis asks. Harry doesn't like the excitement in his voice at anything Aiden has done, it bugs him.

"Yupp." Aiden grins, rolling on the balls of his feet. He looks adorable, like a huge teddy bear. Harry might actually hate him.

"Uhm right. Harry was just leaving."

"I can stay," he says quickly. He has no intentions of leaving these two alone in a bedroom.

"No! I mean no, that's fine." Louis grabs his elbow and drags him towards the door, pushing him bodily into the hallway. "I've got things to prepare, speak to you later. Bye now."

The room door slams closed in front of his nose and Harry wonders when exactly this went downhill so quickly.

For a long moment he stares at the cream paint-job of the heavy, sound-proof door.

He has the distinct urge to knock and demand to be let in. It's --

Well what is the problem?

Louis is in his hotel room with a guy he's clearly more than comfortable with. A guy with whom he shares history, has maybe been intimate with. But while that thought alone rankles, that's not it, not really.

He thinks back to the introduction, when Louis called him 'just a friend'. What does that even mean? Judging by their most recent conversations, they clearly aren't friends. Harry has got plenty of friends. Usually they become ex-friends really fast if they talk to him the way Louis does. Acquaintances would sorely undermine their history, as would the term enemies.

Two women from the cleaning staff come around the corner, pushing a trolley laden with fresh towels and cleaning supplies, yellow household gloves dangling down one side. He steps out of their way, ignoring the subtle but questioning looks they send in his direction.

He doesn't move, not even when they round the corner, their quiet conversation lingering behind.

He's on the verge of something here, like a realisation that's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't quite vocalise it because he hasn't fully understood it yet.

Five minutes later he storms into his hotel room.

Niall jumps at the loud bang of the door, having been engrossed on the phone. "I'm gonna have to call you back, Melly. Yeah, I think Harry needs to talk to me. Yeah, okay. Call you in a bit, babe, bye."

Harry is standing in the middle of the room, the mirror from the vanity table reflecting his shell shocked face, wide eyes filled with dawning realisation.

Niall hangs up and before he can say anything, the words tumble out of Harry's mouth, the words he'd been thinking for some time now, the ones that have his heart racing in fear.

"I'm in love with him."

His intonation rises towards the end, almost turning it into a question.

Niall nods and heads over to the little kitchen area. The hotel has a selection of teas and instant coffees, as well as a selection of ridiculously overprice mini bottles of alcohol in the fridge below it. He flips the switch on the kettle and chooses sachets of tea at random.

"I know," Niall says calmly.

"You do?" Harry asks and he sounds hysterical, voice breaking and far too loud. "How?"

"It's kind of painfully obvious."

It is? He gulps in air, chokes on it. His legs go soft all of a sudden, like cooked spaghetti. He stumbles towards the bed and falls onto the edge of it. It's not quite enough, so he lets his torso fall back too, throws an arm over his eyes.

"What do I do now?"

Niall just chuckles and Harry listens to him pour the water. "What do you want to do?"

What does he want? Thats a good question. "I don't know," he says truthfully. "Does it just -- go away?"

"Eventually, sure. Given time."

"How much time."

Niall chuckles. A soft noise tells Harry that Niall just placed a mug on the nightstand. Moments later the bed dips beside him. "Well that depends." He lowers his arm and peers at Niall who's calmly sitting next to him, face almost serene. Before Harry can say anything, Niall speaks up again. "Do you want it to go away?"

"Yes! No. I don't know, Nialler."

Niall leans back against the headboard and smiles. He takes a sip of his tea before placing it next to Harry's on the nightstand and crossing his arms loosely. "Before you can make a plan, you need all the facts. And before you can get all the facts, you need to know what you want. That's not only how the planning for every job goes but for everything else, too."

Harry thinks about it. Then he thinks about it some more. "I don't know," he says helplessly.

"Okay," Niall says calmly. How is he so calm? "Do you like him."

"Well yes, of course." Of course he likes Louis, how could he not? Louis is -- he's amazing. Full of unbound energy, of easy smiles and quick jibs. His eyes brighten when he knows he did something to entertain others, and goes soft the moment he sees a toddler. Harry has also seen Louis interacting with his friends. He teases and pokes and takes the mickey. But the moment they need help, the moment someone else so much as looks at them wrong, he becomes this protective, angry ball of spitting fury. Harry sighs. "He's loud but never unaware, he helps people who can't help themselves. He's a sarcastic twat that melted into a puddle of goo when that baby at the airport smiled at him. He entertained her for an hour, playing peek-a-boo with her Niall! Of course I like him."

"And the sex is clearly good."

It's not a question, but Harry still takes it as one. He grins up at the hotel ceiling. "The sex is -- yeah. The sex is perfect. Like when he's really turned on and incoherent, he does that little choking noise in the back of his throat and --"

"Shut up oh my god, please shut up!" Niall looks a bit green around the nose.

They fall silent for a bit, Niall drinking his tea and looking traumatised while Harry looks off into the middle distance, replaying some of his favourite memories of Louis in bed with him. Eventually, Niall hits him with a pillow.

"Stop thinking _that,_ you perv. How many other people are you interested in right now?"

"None," Harry says without thinking, mind still stuck on the curve of Louis' lower back, flaring out into his generous arse while lying face down on a bed. In Venice, he must have stared at it for hours, teasing himself, before finally succumbing and nudging Louis awake.

Niall makes a noise, one Harry can't quite interpret. "Now think of all the things you wouldn't do for him."

Harry thinks.

The list is pathetically short.

"Fuck," he says and rolls over, burying his face in the blanket.

+++

The next day is a new start for him. A clean slate.

Harry gets up at five and heads down to the hotel gym. He runs for twenty minutes as a warm-up. Then he dons the gloves provided and lays into the punching bag. Someone to hold the bag would be nice, a personal trainer to remind him of his footwork even better. But he has neither of those and so he keeps striking out, padded fist connecting with the material. While the bag sways, he keeps moving, jumping lightly on his feet, shaking out his arms. Then he bursts into a rapid-fire series of strikes.

Left, right, left, right, left.

After his reality shifting revelation yesterday, he'd needed a few minutes to compose himself.

And then they'd started plotting.

For all the intimacy he's shared with Louis, he'd been horrified to learn he actually knew pretty little about him. Niall hadn't told him everything since it really wasn't his story to tell.

Louis' parents had split when he was very young. A step-dad had come into the picture, just long enough to supply Louis with several younger sisters. His mother loved him dearly, but with his younger sisters to take care of and Louis acting up, he'd ended up in foster care. He'd bounced from family to family until he'd been too old. By that time he'd already had connections to several unsavoury people. He'd been heading down the wrong way, when someone, an infamous thief -- Niall wouldn't say who -- had taken Louis under their wing.

He'd been young enough to mold, eager enough to succeed. That, as well as a natural talent, had started forming him into the man he was today.

Harry shakes his head and delivers a series of vicious strikes to the bag. His right wrist aches, an old injury that flares up from time to time. He ignores it.

Niall had pretty much laid it out for him, how Louis has abandonment issues because of the parent figures in his life disappearing. And trust issues due to being passed from one foster family to the next.

Harry imagines anyone passing Louis off because he was too difficult. He hits the bag so hard the chains rattle loudly.

And so they'd sat in their hotel room, forging a plan, taking all these facts into consideration.

Harry keeps punching until his arms feel like lead and sweat is beading down the side of his face, between his shoulder blades.

Exhausted but resolute, he opens the velcro on the boxing gloves with his teeth and heads for the shower.

He's got a plan to implement and the closest grocery store is a ten minute walk .

+++

He waits on the edge of his seat until half eight.

Then he collects the grocery bags and heads to Louis' room. He knocks twice.

Nothing.

He knocks again.

This continues for a good two minutes, then the door is wrenched open and a very disgruntled and sleepy looking Louis is glaring at him.

"What?"

Harry rips his eyes away from where his joggers hang low on his hips, in imminent danger of slipping off.

He swallows the excess saliva and forces his lips into a smile. "I've brought you cereal."

Louis blinks at him. "What?"

Harry's smile widens. It probably looks a bit desperate now. "Cereal. Like Froot Loops and Special K and such. And milk." He'd added two bowls and spoons too. They could have breakfast on the tiny table on Louis' balcony outside. "I know how much you like them."

Louis looks at him suspiciously, then down at the two plastic bags. "That it?" he asks, nodding to where they're dangling off of Harry's fingers.

Harry holds them out proudly. "Yep."

The next second, Louis has snatched them out of his hand in a move so fast Harry only notices after the fact.

"Hope there's some Cheerios in there," he says. "I'm going back to bed, it's practically the middle of the night."

And then Harry is staring at Louis' hotel room door _again_ , mouth hanging open in shock.

What the fuck does he do now?

Niall is out on an errand, so Harry gets out his phone to text him.

+++

Harry's next day starts early. Again.

By seven, he's meeting up with Liam in the hotel lobby, their rental already outside. It's time to establish their cover story, so arriving in a taxi is out of the question.

Liam is wearing a non-descript cotton button down and jeans that give him a mum-arse. Harry sighs and pulls out some nerdy looking glasses.

"What are those for?" Liam asks when Harry holds them out for him.

"To complete your look."

"What look?"

He pushes the glasses into Liam's hand before waving at him from head to toe. "The geeky tech guy look. It's a decent get up. Where did you even get it?"

"From my suitcase."

Harry waits for him to crack a smile, or indicate in some other way that he's joking. It doesn't come.

Right.

"Well, your cover will be complete with the glasses then." He pats Liam's shoulder and doesn't tell him to avoid eye contact and maybe stutter a bit. He's got this nagging suspicion it'll come to Liam naturally.

Unlike him, Harry is dressed in one of his smarter business suits. Not the really expensive bespokeones, like the dark charcoal Anderson & Sheppard that had taken four fittings and a team of highly skilled tailors to make. No, he's not here to show off. But he is wearing a style-conscious three-piece worth around two thousand pounds.

He's pretending to audit a huge international firm dealing in diamonds. It wouldn't do to look shabby, after all.

They spend their day walking the corridors, weaving around cubicles and sticking their heads into offices. Introductions to important bigwigs and lesser ones are made. After lunch, Harry speaks in front of a small group of floor managers, letting them know how the audit will go down and assuring them that giving him access to everything he asks for is in their best interest.

By the time they leave at six, Harry has got two invites to the ball. Kim from PR and Marco from sales have both invited him to come as their plus one. He's leaning towards Marco for now, since Kim seems mostly intent on getting into his pants.

He gets a text from Niall on his way back to the hotel. It's just a single thumbs up emoji, but Harry can't help but grin the entire ride home.

When he enters the hotel room he shares with Niall, Louis is there too, sprawled on the plush two seater and looking edible. His shirt has ridden up to expose a sliver of tanned tummy and Harry needs to take a sharp turn into the bathroom for a quick shower and comfortable lounge wear. Otherwise he might just pin Louis down, drag his joggers down with his teeth and bite his stomach, maybe --

No.

Niall had been very clear; there would be no more sex. This would be a slow seduction. Harry hadn't had much use for those up until now, but then, Louis is special.

He emerges shortly after, hair still in a bun since he hadn't wanted to get it wet. Louis does a subtle double take, so Harry decides to leave it up.

During his shower Niall and Louis have moved to the huge double bed, a cart full of movie snacks in easy reach.

Niall pats the place next to him and Harry climbs on. "What're we watching?"

“Galaxy quest.”

“Never heard of it,” he says, wiggling around until he’s comfortable.

“Even better, then.“ They settle in, Harry on one side of Niall, Louis on the other.

Ten minutes into the movie, Niall's phone rings. He gets up, almost tripping over a discarded shoe. "I'll be right back," he lies, snatching Louis' room key from the dresser and heading out.

They'd asked Melly to call him at half past. It would give Harry enough time to get back to the hotel and shower and for the movie to start. Enough not to make Louis suspicious.

"If that's Melly, we won't see him again all night," Louis says.

That's the plan, Harry thinks and hands him a bowl of popcorn.

It's sort of torturous, sitting next to Louis like this. He's a solid warm presence that Harry wants to feel wrapped all around him, bury his face in his neck and inhale deeply. He wants to gently stroke his hand down Louis' warm skin, wants to smile against his collarbone at the absurdity of the film.

Louis shifts, sitting up against the headboard, eyes glued to the screen. His hand snakes out for a handful of popcorn.

Everything inside of Harry is telling him to get closer, to touch. Today has tired him out, the work draining him in a way few other things can. There's a reason why he doesn't have a normal, standard office hours job.

He's tired, his back hurts and Louis smells like the hotel soap; clean and faintly flowery. He's warm and solid and _real_ and Harry is weak.

He flops over onto his side, head pillowed on Louis' lap. Louis freezes up, the crunch of the popcorn, and for a moment even his breathing, stopping completely.

Harry ignores him, attention almost aggressively fixed on the screen. His ear is squished in this position and there's already a faint twinge shooting up his back. But he doesn't move, too afraid to startle Louis into pushing him off.

But Louis doesn't, and they keep watching their movie.

"Did it go well today?" It's a careful question, one they both know can easily end in yet another disagreement. Louis must have thought about it for a while.

"Yeah," Harry says. "We did another little tour and I was introduced to the finance department. They don't like me much, but I guess that's to be expected. Who likes the outsider that comes in and tells people how to do their work, who is there to point out their mistakes."

He almost, _almost_ , flinches when Louis starts petting his hair. It's a tentative and careful movement, hindered by his bun. He reaches up without comment, removing the hair tie.

Louis immediately snatches his hand back and mumbles, "sorry."

"No," Harry tells him in a quiet voice, "it's nice." And he means it. It's not the first time someone is petting his hair, nor the first time Harry is watching a movie with his head pillowed on someone's thigh. But the only time he's felt this relaxed had been on christmas two years ago when he'd gone home to Holmes Chapel. A pleasant warmth from the eggnog had spread through him, his sides aching from laughing at Gemma's attempts of singing christmas carols.

There's a stillness in the air, charged with - something. Not tension, something softer, more fragile. Anticipation, maybe. No that's not it. Maybe insecurity. For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then, feather soft, Louis' fingers are in his hair, carding the strands and tickling his scalp. Harry suppresses a shiver. He barely breathes, too afraid Louis will stop. It feels monumental somehow, like a step they took without quite understanding its significance yet.

He's still looking at the screen, but every fibre in his being is concentrating and cataloguing Louis' touch.

"You don't like it when people don't like you."

He shifts, looking at Louis from an uncomfortable angle for just a second. "Isn't that like, something no one likes?"

There's a certain heaviness in their eye contact. Louis shrugs, focusing back on the movie so Harry does the same. "I don't mind that much. I mean it's inevitable that there'll be people you don't get along with, innit?"

Logically, Harry understands the truth in that statement. However, he's always craved people's approval, needed it as reassurance. Over the years, he's learned just how to manipulate people enough to get what he wants. Louis' continued ability to not give in, to call him out on it, is equally unsettling and thrilling. Those thoughts are hard to put into words, and maybe Harry isn't quite ready to give Louis that much power over him. "I like people. And I want them to like me."

"Yeah." Louis says in a distant voice, like Harry's statement had just proven a point. Harry knows he's lost him, has said something to make him pull back and he has absolutely no idea what that was.

But Louis keeps gently untangling his hair, so Harry doesn't complain, keeps holding still and pretends to watch the movie.

Small victories, he tells himself.

+++

They've been sitting in this stuffy van for almost two hours and Louis is getting antsy.

"We could be doing anything right now," Harry complains, his bare feet propped up next to a blinking red lamp. It had started up half an hour ago but since everyone, including Liam, had left by then, they had no way to figure out its purpose.

Louis lets his legs slide off the chair, stretches them out in front of him. Ok, he's bored, he'll bite. "Like what."

"Anything but this," Harry groans, closing his eyes. "At the Louvre, viewing da Vinci's Bacchus."

"You seem more like the type to stare at Michelangelo's statues"

Harry smirks but doesn't rise to the bait. "I could be playing golf. Or cooking."

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Cooking?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at it. And it's fun."

Louis' idea of a home-cooked meal involves a microwavable dinner and, if he's lucky, a microwave. "Do you bake too?"

Harry's smile is genuine. "Yes of course. Scrabble biscuits and red velvet cupcakes and peanut butter brownies."

Louis looks at him before shaking his head. He takes a drink from the water bottle and glances at the monitors. The security guards haven't moved, and no one has been in or out.

The idea of Harry Styles standing in a kitchen, cracking eggs open with a smudge of flour on his cheek is hard to imagine. It's probably because he's only ever seen Harry in posh hotels. Come to think of it, he doesn't even know where Harry lives.

"But you spend so much time in hotels all around the world. That must cut into your baking time."

Harry sits up, taking the bottle of water from Louis for his own drink. He grimaces at the luke warm temperature but doesn't say anything. Instead he pulls his hand through his hair, dragging it in a deep side part, tendrils falling into his face. "I sometimes go into the kitchen and ask to use their oven."

A laugh escapes him. "In hotels?"

"Yeah," Harry agrees and he can just imagine him puttering down to the kitchen, bags filled with ingredients in his hand and an aw-shucks expression on his face. "They usually have a free corner and I do choose times when the hotel guests are sleeping. I don't want to inconvenience them."

"Of course you don't." Louis doesn't say it but he's terribly endeared by the idea of Harry in a kitchen at half two in the morning, while the nightshift staff stare at him like he's an exotic animal.

"Once, they got a large order for a drunk wedding party and I helped out. I made the bread."

"You made bread."

Harry nods, an excited, almost childish glint in his eyes. "Yeah, I used to work in a bakery, so I knew how to." Louis chokes, laughing outright now. "What? I'm not lying!"

"I didn't say you were."

"I worked in a bakery as a teenager. It's the sort of thing you learn."

Louis sweeps his gaze over the monitors but notes no change. "Whatever happened from working in a bakery to becoming one of the world's greatest con men?"

Harry shrugs. "The pay was shit."

Louis shakes his head, unable to hide his smile. They fall silent after that. To his surprise, the silence isn't awkward, more of a shared respite. Visions of Harry wearing nothing but an apron and a huge smile while standing in a big, homey kitchen pop up in his head. It's the sort of thing he wouldn't mind waking up to.

No.

He nips that thought in the bud. For all his domestic tendencies, Harry doesn't seem like the type of guy to settle down, not yet. And it makes sense. At twenty-one he has the world at his feet, so why should he. And if Harry's comments over the last few days are anything to go by, he'll most probably settle down with a pretty girl, the kind that can give him the brood of kids he so obviously desires.

A vision of his newly born siblings, twins again, rises before his inner mind. His mum had sent him the photos in an email attachment. It's the email address he made when he was twelve and at one of the foster homes that hadn't minded him using their internet.

"Hey, Louis?"

"What?" His current train of thought makes him defensive and it shows in his tone of voice.

Harry nods at the monitors. "They're patrolling again. Two."

Louis takes the chart next to him and diligently adds in the exact time. Harry is flipping through another chart, comparing the security guys on screen with the roster Liam printed for them.

"It's Dubois and Lefebvre."

Louis notes that down as well, all thoughts of the family he hasn't seen in years pushed to the back of his mind.

Due to some technical detail that Liam explained in length but Louis didn't listen to, the van is parked in the glaring sun. Over the next two hours it heats up considerably and they pass the time by playing tic tac toe on the back of Liam's print out.

When Liam and Sophia relieve them from their shift, his shirt is sticking to his back. Harry's hair is doing humorous things in the muggy heat, a fact Louis has made copious use of for his own amusement.

They step out into the sunshine, blinking and disoriented.

"Fuck," Louis grouses, pushing the van doors shut behind them and leaving Liam and Sophia to their fate. "It's cooler in the direct sunlight than in there. I think I have heat stroke. Or whatever you get from loads of heat but no sunlight."

Harry pulls his shirt away from his skin, wincing as it unsticks. "I need a shower. Or a bath."

"I'll take a pool, too."

Harry's face brightens. "I think I have just the thing for you then."

It's probably the fact that the heat managed to fry his brain inside his skull, but Louis just goes with it, let's himself be dragged to the closest cab. The air-con is on full blast and it's a shock to his system, but a welcome one.

He rests his head back and watches through half closed eyes as Harry leans forward and gives the driver instructions. His shirt is stuck to his back too, and Louis watches the muscles shift in his back. He's his charming self and Louis wonders how he doesn't have half the world at his feet yet.

He watches the city life flash by with bleary eyes, blinking slow, heated eyelids scratching. He must have dozed off, because the next time he opens his eyes they've left the city center. The roads are wider and the houses have an actual garden, with broad gates and high fences affording them privacy in their homes, set far enough away from the road to not be bothered by it.

"Where are we?"

"Neuilly-sur-Seine," Harry informs him. At Louis' blank look he continues, "at the north-west edge of Paris."

Harry looks at another mansion they drive past. The cab is starting to slow down, finally stopping in front of huge wrought iron gates. "Looks like an expensive neighbourhood."

"It is."

A little thrill of anticipation shoots through Louis and he glances at the cabbie.

He reaches over and slowly spells the word 'steal' onto Harry's thigh, ending it with a big question mark.

When there's no answer forthcoming, he glances over. Harry's eyes have gone dark, his gaze fixed on Louis' face.

Shit. He didn't mean it like that!

He pulls his hand back, but Harry is faster. His hand wraps around Louis', clamping down firmly. He drags it up higher, higher, his eyes never leaving Louis'.

Louis swallows. His pinky brushes the unmistakable bulge in Harry's pants. He yanks his hand back violently, simultaneously opening the cab door. The heat hits him like a punch but he staggers outside regardless.

It's just. Harry has too much power over him, that's the problem. He has too much power over anyone, sure, but Louis is invested on a level he'd rather not be, one he knows Harry doesn't share. If they have sex -- again -- it'll just send the wrong message to Harry. And Louis won't be a repeat booty call, dropped for the next interesting piece of arse that crosses Harry's way. He won't.

While the cab drives off, Harry crouches down by the nearby hedge, sticking his hand into the soil. After a bit of digging, he pulls out a key, dangling off a dirty string. Harry wipes it while heading for the side door, the one-person entrance next to the huge gate that's wide enough for trucks.

The door swings open and Harry doesn't even turn around. "You coming?"

Louis does and after closing the door again they fall into step, heading for the huge Victorian mansion. It's painted completely white, huge windows having been installed to give it the impression of open space. The garden around it is well taken care of but not styled to an inch of its life. Instead, there's dandelions sprouting in the grass and the flower beds are more suggestions than anything.

"This one of your ex's place?" A muscle jumps in Harry's face and Louis thinks he's hit the nail on the head. "Are you sure they aren't home?"

Harry doesn't look at him. "The house is empty."

"Well, if you're sure."

It takes them another minute to reach the house itself, the long driveway ending in a circular cul-de-sac by the main entrance door. Louis peers through the frosted glass on both sides of it and freezes when he catches the tell-tale blinking red light.

"Do you have the combination for the alarm?"

Harry slides the still muddy key into the keyhole. "I do."

Louis shoots forward, hand stopping Harry's from turning the key. "What if he changed it?"

A crease appears on Harry's forehead and his dimples disappear. "Who?"

"Or she, I don't know! What if the owner of this house changed the combination and we trigger the alarm?"

"No one changed the sequence."

Louis glares. "People lie, Harry! You should know all about that."

"Fine," Harry says, his tone still supremely unperturbed. He wriggles his fingers under Louis' hand and smiles. "The keypad for the alarm is on the left wall, right after the Monet. There's a vanity side table under the painting, the right drawer has scissors and pliers inside. The alarm has a 45 seconds delay. You're good at this, right?"

Before Louis can say anything, Harry twists the key, forcing Louis' hand along with it. The door swings open and the telltale beep of the engaged alarm system sounds.

For a moment, Louis is frozen to the spot, speechless.

Harry is fucking insane.

But Louis must be too, because next thing he turns to sprint _into_ the house, not away from it. Under one of Monet's water lily paintings he finds the dresser, yanking open the drawer while peering at the keypad. It's a Honeywell. He can't make out the model but that shouldn't matter, manufacturers tend to stick with what works.

He yanks out the scissor and shoves the flat edge under a corner of the keypad, levering the front cover off. It dangles down still connected to the wires and he peers at them, feels the familiar thrill run through him.

His hands are steady, even though he's had no time to plan this. But this is what he does. This, this he understands. Quick fingers start sorting out the colour-coded wires; green, blue, brown, white. All of them occur more than once. Everyone knows the colours are useless, are nothing more than a way to differentiate them. So he follows them. Green is for the lamp, blue for the keypad itself.

A hand slips around his chest, coming to rest over his beating heart. "Twentyfive seconds," Harry whispers in his ear. He presses his entire body against Louis' back and fuck if that isn't the most distracting thing ever.

He shoves a white wire aside, just as Harry's hand slides down his chest, over his abs and -- yep. Louis is wearing joggers, wouldn't wear his skinnies for a recon session like Harry. That's why Harry's hand slips inside those, as well as his pants, easily. His long fingers wrap around Louis' cock and squeeze.

"Fuck," he grinds out, pushing another wire aside. Three left. "You're fucking insane."

Harry bites his earlobe, breath heavy and hot. “I’m not the one getting hard.” He squeezes his fingers some more and for a long second, Louis screws his eyes shut, tries to concentrate.

He lifts the scissors and cuts.

They both freeze, suspended in that second, waiting for another beep.

It doesn’t come.

“That was fucking hot,” Harry says harshly, grinding his erection into Louis’ arse. Before Louis can push back, or do anything, really, the heat of Harry’s body disappears. He drops to his knees behind Louis, stripping Louis from the waist down in the same move.

Harry bites his left bum cheek and gently but firmly guides his legs apart. The joggers stretch around his ankles and he tips forward, face almost smashing into the dangling keypad. He perches his forearms against the wall, is just about to turn around when oh --

Louis whimpers when Harry drags his tongue, eager as always, over his hole.

“There’s something wrong with you,” he mutters. His voice is pitched low but the whine is unmistakable.

“Not true,” Harry says, replacing his tongue with a finger. He crooks it just right and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, bites into his forearm to keep the moan from escaping. For a long moment, Harry falls into a fascinated silence, watching Louis rock onto his toes whenever he pushes in just right, rolling back to stand flat when Harry pulls his finger out, like Louis is following him. Then, there’s a second finger and Louis groans, low and loud. “Nothing wrong with wanting to eat you out.”

The fingers are replaced with his mouth again and Louis can’t help it, pushes back, not caring that he’s practically riding Harry’s face. All that matters is the growing tension low in his belly.

He reaches down to his leaking cock but Harry must notice, because he slaps his hand away. He pulls back, and Louis very nearly begs him for his mouth again. “Don’t,” Harry says, rubbing his face against Louis’ bum. “Let me.”

“Less talking,” Louis gets out.

Harry pushes two fingers back inside of him and rubs them against his prostate. “What do you want instead then?” Louis opens his mouth then shuts it again, spreading his legs wider and pushing back. Again Harry bites his arse cheek, and Louis wouldn’t be at all surprised to find a bruise there tomorrow. “Tell me,” Harry says, his voice low and ragged and sexy.

“Your -- your mouth.”

“Yeah?” One of his hands disappears and Louis hears the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down.

Fuck, the idea of Harry getting himself off on this is just -- fuck. Louis closes his eyes and moans, pushing back on Harry’s fingers. “Please,” he whispers. But Harry hears and then his fingers are gone and his mouth is back, licking, sucking.

Louis looks down, sees a long strand of precome dripping from his cock. He’s so close, fuck. And really all rationality left him a long time ago so he might as well just go with it, commit. “Your. Your hand, please. On my cock.”

Harry doesn’t tease him this time, just reaches around and wraps Louis’ aching length in his big hand. Louis watches it move up and down, once, twice, his precome coating Harry’s fingers. And then, on the next upstroke, Harry runs his thumb over the head, pressing down with firm pressure.

Louis comes on a hoarse cry. His come is dripping on Harry’s hand and there’s even some splattered on the wall. Harry doesn’t let go, hand still wrapped around him, almost too sensitive now. Instead the movements behind him speeds up and with another harsh bite to his skin, Harry comes too.

They stay like that for a long moment, breathing heavy.

But Harry’s spit is drying between his arse cheeks and his knees are about to give out. Harry must feel the same, because he finally lets go of Louis’ cock.

"So much for leaving no DNA at the crime scene."

Harry's laugh comes rough and happy, like a contented cat stretching in the sun. “Come on,” he says in a rough voice while nudging Louis out of his clothes. “There’s a huge pool out back. We'll deal with that later.”

And that's it, really. No awkwardness, nothing.

Without saying a word, they shrug out of their remaining clothes and head outside.

Harry produces some towels and two cold glasses of water from the poolside bar, which Louis promptly ignores in favour of jumping into the water. Harry joins him moments later and they spend a relaxed afternoon, alternating between swimming, sunbathing and completely ignoring Niall's calls.

If Harry accidentally blows him while they’re in the pool, snorting water when he surfaces, and Louis wanks him from behind, bent over in the shade of the bar, hard and rough until Harry is spreading his legs, moaning and begging him for more, _your cock, need your cock come on Louis, please,_ then it’s more of an accident than anything else. After all, Louis _doesn't_ give him his cock.

Clearly, this doesn’t count.

+++

The following week is spent with more reconnaissance and it bores Louis out of his mind. For a change of scenery he goes indoor wall climbing one evening, but it's almost no challenge at all so he doesn't return. Liam and Sophia invite him to the hotel gym one morning but he declines that on principle. If it doesn't involve a harness and at least five meters of free fall, it's considered exercise.

"You'll be less antsy if you burn off some energy," Liam conjoles. Louis glares at him.

"It'll also make you less pissy," Sophia says. He glares at her too, but only for a moment. It's impossible to glare at her for too long, she's just too lovely. Also, Louis has seen her take down three men armed with guns while wearing high heels. He isn't suicidal.

He waves them off, backing into his hotel room. "Nah. I wouldn't want to bother the newlyweds."

Sophia laughs when Liam turns beet red. She leans over, giving him a soft kiss and a pat on his arse. "He's got a point."

They leave eventually, taking their morning cheer and athleticism with them. Louis manages another five minutes in his room before he grabs his keycard and electronic lock pick and marches down the hall.

Two minutes later, he barges into Harry and Niall's room.

"Good morning!" he shouts, pulling back the heavy drapes.

Niall blinks at him blearily. "Wha?"

"Where's Harry?"

"How the fuck should I know," Niall grouses, turning his back to Louis. "I'm not his fucking keeper."

Louis hops onto the bed next to him, bum first. "Niall," he whines. "I'm bored."

"You're a fucking cunt, that's what you are."

Louis rolls onto his front and smushes his face into the bed. "Cuddle me," he says, voice muffled.

"Fuck off."

He sighs dramatically and rolls over, nose buried in Niall's shoulder. He's back snoring now, so he doesn't complain when Louis throws an arm around him and scoots closer.

"Hey," says a voice behind him. Louis opens his bleary eyes. He must have fallen asleep.

Harry is sitting on the bed behind him, prying his arm free from around Niall.

"What're you doing?" he mumbles.

"Untangling you two," Harry says and gently rolls him onto his back. Louis takes his newly freed arm and rubs his thumb over the crease of Harry's brow, feels it relaxing minutely.

"Why?" he asks.

Harry's voice is a low growl. "I don't like it."

He tries to open his eyes to glare at Harry, but he can't, feels himself slipping back into sleep instead. He rolls further into Harry, his nose hitting Harry's thigh. "You smell sweaty."

Long fingers card through his hair. "I was at the gym."

"Boo," Louis murmurs. "It's too early for exercise."

"Yeah," Harry says, his fingers stroking soothingly along Louis' scalp. "Too early." The tone of Harry's voice isn't quite right. Louis is about to ask him why, but sleep finally pulls him all the way under.

+++

Later that evening, he's had enough of feeling cooped up, climbing the walls and scratching his own skin. He's had two naps out of boredom today. Two!

And so he'd called up Aiden. They still see each other more than they probably should, considering how far apart they live. Perks of his job, he guesses. But it's still a hell of a lot less than they used to. And dammit, he misses him.

Aiden had picked him up in a cab, dressed to the nines in tight dark jeans, a tank top with edges so loose it seemed like someone had been trying to drag them off his body by sheer force. He's topped it all off with a ridiculous knit cardigan. Louis makes fun of it immediately but once he notices how soft the fabric is, can't help but snuggle close.

They're at a club Aiden frequents. It's not the poshest, but not grungy either. Not that Louis would have minded either way. It's dark, the heated air bisected with rays of colourful light. The music is loud, everyone is just a bit sweaty and the dj doesn't suck completely.

But most importantly everyone is dancing.

And Louis is -- he's laughing.

There's guys all around him, pressing in close and Aiden with a big grin in front of him. They're drunk, maybe more than a little and he doesn't care one bit.

He throws his hands in the air and sways his hips to the deep bass in the nightclub, relishing the writhing bodies pressed against him.

Big hands land on his hips.

He leans his head back against a strong collarbone, eyes closed and small laughs still escaping his lips.

This feels like the first night he spent with Harry, where he'd come up behind Louis and they'd danced just like this. Eventually he'd turned around and slid one knee between Harry's legs. Soon they'd started grinding into each other, lips ghosting over sweaty skin, sharp little breaths exhaled in rhythm to the beat. Harry's hand had slid up his spine, underneath his shirt, fingers slip-and-sliding through the sweat.

He twists around in the guy's grip. He's handsome, with a square jaw and a body he clearly takes pride in. His hair is close cropped, just long enough to feel the slide of it between his fingers when Louis reaches up to card them through his hair. Probably a dark blond colour in daylight, it now looks mostly blue green from the club's artificial lighting.

Louis smiles, friendly, swaying closer now. Their hips touch and their knees knock and it takes Louis a moment to realise it's because he's comparing this guy to someone who is taller than him. Someone like Harry, who's body fits seamlessly against Louis', always has.

Aiden comes up behind him, shouting in his ear. Louis barely hears him. "You okay?"

Louis nods, reaching back to pat Aiden's side. Aiden is good people, he really is.

His dance partner looks over Louis' shoulder dubiously and Louis can't have that. He leans forward -- not up -- and presses their lips together. The distraction must work, judging by the tightened grip on his waist, the way the guy immediately opens his mouth.

The kiss is... well the kiss is fine. Good. It's a decent kiss, with both parties sufficiently skilled to make this an enjoyable experience. Only, it isn't. It's not bad, Louis thinks as a tongue licks over his lips. It's just. Boring.

He sighs, pulling back to look the guy in the face. "I'm sorry," he says, coupled with a shake of his head. "I think I can't, sorry mate. There's this guy and, like, he's a bastard, you know? I just have to wait a bit, get over him." He nudges the guy, whose expression has clearly plummeted. "You should give me your number. Then I can call you. When I'm over him, I mean."

Great. He's rambling. To a stranger in a club, isn't his life glamourous. He’s just about to fall into another wave of explanation when the guy makes a weird hand gesture, pointing to himself and the bar, before promptly departing.

Louis watches him go, the writhing bodies around him suddenly bothersome. He gets an elbow in his back and someone treads on his foot.

And what the fuck just happened? Did Harry finally succeed? Scratched at his walls, bothering, always bothering, until Louis' last reserve had finally snapped and now he can't even get off with a random guy at a club because Harry fucking Styles has invaded every part of his life. How long until he goes back to normal? Will he drag this around with him until the end of days?

He’s so done with this.

He squeezes out through the tight knot of people on the dance floor and heads straight for the door. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of… something. Curly hair.

It’s not Harry.

And why would he be looking for Harry anyway? What good would that do? He marches past the bar, ignores one cat call that’s definitely directed at his arse and shoulders his way to the exit.

He needs to breathe. Fresh air, yes, that’s it. He just needs to go outside, away from the smell of beer and cigarettes and sweat. He just needs to take a few deep breaths, clear Harry from his mind. Then he can go back inside.

He’ll be fine.

The air outside is cool, washes over his sweaty face and fills his lungs.

It reminds him of the rainy night in Venice. He'd woken up just past midnight and wrapped himself in a sheet. It didn’t ward off the chill on the balcony, but he’d stayed anyway. The lanterns on boats below reflected in the calm surface of the water, distorted and weird. For once his surroundings made no sense, but something deep inside of him had clicked. The world could go up in flames and they'd be safe in their little bubble.

He can't remember how long he stood there, barefoot and shivering and so utterly content. Harry opened the door behind him, looking sleep-rumpled and bleary-eyed and so utterly, utterly lovely.

"Lou?"

He reached for Harry then, wrapping his arms around him from behind and covering him in the sheet, too. He pressed a kiss between Harry's shoulder blades. "Looks like a Dali painting, doesn't it?" he whispered, pointing at the scenery below.

Harry had tilted his head, this way and that. "It does," he said, giggling.

And fuck if he isn't the most endearing creature. "Turn around."

Harry did without thinking twice, his smile brilliant against the night sky. "Why?"

Louis had moved to his tip-toes, balancing by wrapping the sheet and his arms around Harry's back. "Wanna kiss you," he whispered before doing just that.

They'd kissed on that tiny balcony for eons, until the rain picked up and Harry's hair turned frizzy, both of them shivering uncontrollably. Laughing, they'd stumbled inside, still wrapped in the sheet, in each other.

And why is he thinking of that now? He drags in deep breaths, tastes the rain on the back of his tongue, listens to the steady drip drip drip from the edge of the building across the street. It's not so much rain as a heavy mist, and suddenly it's in his lungs too, filling them, but not with the air he so desperately needs.

He isn’t fine.

By the time Aiden finds him, hunched over with his fingers gripping the chain link fence, he’s worked himself up into a right frenzy. Breathing is difficult. Short, shallow breaths is all he can manage but it’s making the world around him spin. The stench of cat piss from the next alley doesn’t help, either.

“Hey, hey. Are you ok?” Aiden’s big hand is warm and comfortable on his back, rubbing small circles until the heat of it seeps through his clothes, into his skin. “Hey. Louis? Look at me.”

Louis looks up. Aiden is really tall. Also, the buildings are spinning around his head. “You’re head is spinning, too,” he manages to gasp out between laboured breaths. His head feels light and there’s a pressure at the back of his throat, like he wants to throw up.

“Hey!” Aiden barks. “Breathe with me, ok? Breathe in. One, two, three, four, five, six.”

Louis concentrates on Aiden’s hands, miming breathing in. His chest burns when he extends the intake of breath but he does it anyway.

“And hold for one, two, three, four, five.”

He cheats at four, lets some of his breath out through his nose and promises himself to do better during the next cycle. They exhale for the count of eight. Then they repeat the entire thing until the buildings stops spinning and his head doesn’t feel quite as light.

“I think I’m fine,” he croaks out, clutching Aiden’s arm. He get’s a worried look in return. “No, really, I’m fine. The world stopped spinning. I need to sit down, though.”

“Shit mate,” Aiden says, exhaling harshly. He rakes his hand through his hair. “I thought you were gonna pass out.”

He wraps his arm around Louis’ waist and steers them towards the cabs parked just down the street from the nightclub, collecting the stragglers.

“I think I was about to,” Louis agrees.

They get into the first cab, Aiden telling the driver their hotel. His french is accented, not as flawless as Louis’. Here’s to hoping the cabbie doesn’t see them as easy tourist pickings. Louis doesn’t mind paying more money, but he doesn’t have the nerve to sit here for the scenic route.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Louis glances over sharply. “What’s there to talk about?”

Aiden shrugs, expression growing distant as he looks out the window. Pearls of water are pushed back by the car's momentum. The nighttime scenery, with its islands of light spilling from rooms and streetlights alike, get dissected by the diagonal tracks of water. “That was a panic attack. I just thought you’d like to talk about it.”

Louis scowls at his profile. “That wasn’t a panic attack, what’re you on about.”

Aiden turns to look at him. “Suit yourself, we don’t have to talk. But just remember, I know you. And I also happen to know what a panic attack looks like.” He reaches over and squeezes Louis’ hand. “Just let me know when you’re ready to talk about Harry.”

Louis’ mouth snaps shut and he pulls his hand free.

After a short while, all streets look the same. And still he keeps staring outside until they reach the hotel, not saying another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Louis hefts the two packages higher on his hip. He pats his belt on the other side, making sure he's got his scanner.

The laminated UPS ID card is clipped to his chest pocket. It's a picture Liam took about three weeks ago. They'd stuck a white sheet over the memory board at the pub. Beer had been involved. That's probably why one of his eyes is half closed and his hair's a mess. The memory of actually taking the photo is fuzzy also.

It's good enough for this job, he guesses. The packages start sliding down and he bounces them back up. He's been a delivery guy for less than half a minute and already he's annoyed. And according to Liam, the pay for these kinds of jobs is absolute shit. Louis' heart would go out to all package delivery personnel everywhere, if he weren't so damn irritated.

Again, the packages start to slip.

He clears the entrance without anyone looking at him twice. There's two cameras in the lobby, so he makes sure to hide his head under the cap and angle his face away. It's not necessary, Liam hacked the system yesterday and is planning to feed it a loop of last nights hours.

But some habits are hard to break.

He delivers the packages to the receptionist in the lobby and gets her to sign on the scanner. Liam had had to explain to him three times how it worked, which buttons he was to press, mainly because he hadn't been listening the first two times.

"Hey love?" he says once he's done. He didn't even bother speaking french, knowing that his english accent would get him much further. "I know this is a bit unorthodox but, uhm, could I maybe use the loo?"

Her phone starts ringing at just that moment and she nods, looking harried. She points down the lobby. "Third door on the right."

"Thanks, love," he says while she picks up the phone and rattles down her standard greeting.

He ambles down the way she indicated, eyes scanning for the exits automatically. There's two security guards off to his right, but their backs are turned. The worst part is over. He's already inside.

He turns a corner and sees the toilet, just as promised. He turns in the other direction, standing off to the side and pulling out his phone. He opens whatsapp and starts writing furiously.

The UPS uniform allows him some form of invisibility, as all uniforms do. But anyone standing around and looking like they're waiting for something will look suspicious. Anyone on their phone, on the other hand, blends right in.

"We will just have to go over last month's budget and interview some key employees. After that, my colleague will draw up the plans and we should have an estimate for you within twenty-four hours."

Louis doesn't whip his head around at Harry's voice, as is his first instinct. Instead he watches two pairs of feet, one of them Harry's, slightly pigeon-toed, walk by in front of him.

They settle in to wait, Harry's laptop bag resting easily against his hip. The elevator doors ding open and the guy with Harry; older, rounder and half a balding head, takes out a key card to swipe against the electronic panel.

He presses the button for their floor right at the moment Harry smacks his forehead. "We forgot the print outs." The guy with him looks torn, while Harry just looks at him calmly, placidly. Then he leans in conspiratorially and lowers his voice, "if you don't mind, I'd like to go ahead and use the loo. I probably won't find a chance during the interviews."

The guy deliberates for a moment longer. "You remember the way?"

Harry smiles and nods. "I do."

"Up you go then, Mr. Carson." He steps out, leaving Harry stood inside the elevator. After a last backward glance at Harry and the closing elevator doors, he rounds the corner, out of sight.

Harry's hand shoots out. The elevator doors slide back open and Louis casually steps inside.

By the time the doors close behind him, he's already got his brown uniform jacket unbuttoned.

"The colour doesn't suit you," Harry tells him.

"This colour doesn't suit anyone." He steps out of the brown shorts, turns to Harry in just his tight boxer briefs.

Harry's eyes darken, roaming over his skin.

Louis snaps his fingers. "Oi. The plan?"

Harry just looks at him, slightly dazed. "The plan?"

"Oh for god's sake," Louis groans. He shoves the ghastly uniform into Harry's hand and unzips his laptop bag. His favourite cat burglar outfit greets him, folded up carefully. Just the way he left it earlier.

He takes it out and quickly steps into the black pants, rolling them up his legs. They're tight, like his favourite skinny jeans. It wouldn't do for a loose pant leg to get caught in something. The material is nothing like denim, but rather a very thin, flexible fabric that molds to his every movement. There's no metal pieces, such as buttons or zippers. Those make an awful noise that echoes inside vent shafts.

He slips on his long-sleeved shirt and slings his climbing harness and utility belt over his shoulder. "Come on," he urges Harry. "Liam can only slow this elevator down so much."

Harry stuffs the brown uniform into the laptop bag and zips it back up. He bends down slightly and interlaces his fingers in front of him. One hand on Harry's shoulder, Louis steps into his cupped palms.

The small, automatic screwdriver from his custom made harness is already in his hand and it takes him no time at all to unscrew the safety screw from the tiny flap door in the ceiling of the elevator. He pushes the door back and pulls himself up, bringing his legs through the opening in a practiced move.

He leans down through the opened hatch. "Ok?"

Harry nods, hoisting the laptop bag onto his shoulders. "Ok," he agrees and gives Louis a dorky thumbs up.

Louis rolls his eyes.

"Hey," Harry says urgently, just as Louis is about to close the latch. There's no way to reseal it now, but the likelihood of someone spotting a missing screw and sounding the alarm is pretty small. It's the sort of chance that comes with the job. The kind that sends shivers of anticipation up Louis' spine.

"What?"

"Your arse looks great in those trousers."

He grins. "I know."

+++

The static in his earpiece wakes him. There's a split second of confusion, a sharp frisson of panic exploding in his stomach.

But it's just an airshaft and he'd been napping, to stave off the boredom. Abseiling down a high rise or climbing up elevator shafts is one thing. That's ok. That's _fun._

But voluntarily being stuck in a cramped space for three hours just to wait for the party to start is something else entirely.

But Louis is a professional, he can do this.

"Did you fall asleep?" comes Harry's incredulous voice over the earpiece.

"So what if I did?"

Harry murmurs a soft hello to someone before returning to the conversation. "I can't believe you'd sleep on the job."

Louis splutters in indignation. "Says the guy who's here for backup! Who is downstairs munching on finger food and who's hardest part tonight is not falling asleep during the speeches. How's the champagne, hmm?"

"But you fell asleep. On the job!"

Louis is about to launch into another explanation, maybe defend his work ethics, when Liam pipes in, "he does that a lot."

Louis scowls, mutters, "traitor," under his breath.

Apparently, they aren't done, because Sophia decides to join in. "It's like sleeping in a metal coffin, I have no idea how he does it. And apart from that, can it even be comfortable?"

"Maybe it is, when you're as tiny as Louis," Harry says.

Everyone falls silent. Louis imagines he can hear Sophia and Liam hold their breath.

"What?" Harry asks, voice still filled with humour. "Is Louis' size and the fact that his job that requires squeezing into small spaces off topic or something?"

Heat shoots up his face. He's about to tell Harry just exactly where he can shove his opinion, when Niall interrupts them. "Stop your bickering, we're going live in two minutes. What are the cameras doing?"

"Still mine," Liam confirms while Louis carefully rolls onto his stomach. He reaches back with both hands and repositions the belt. "The alarm on the security doors can't be overridden, but it doesn't send a distress signal directly to the police."

"Good," Niall says, voice muffled.

"Are you _eating_?" Louis asks in outrage.

"'M hungry. And anyway, are you in position?"

"I've been in position for three hours, you idiot."

"Watch it," Niall chides mildly. "Or I'll replace you."

"Sure." Louis robs forward to the closest grate. He peers through into the room beyond. It lies empty and dark, illuminated only by the night lights streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. "If you'd like to downgrade, that's your choice. I've got a few standing offers."

"But you always decline them," Liam says. Louis can hear his furious typing on the keyboard. "You're very polite about it."

"Are you reading my emails again?"

"Yeah." Click, click, click. "I used some of your sentences for my own letters of rejection."

"Isn't that like, plagiarism?"

Harry clears his throat, smirk evident in his voice. "You should sue him."

"Nah," Liam says and for a moment the typing stops. Then it picks up again, faster this time. "I have far more money than he does. He spends it on random crap no one needs."

"Like what?" The eagerness in Harry's voice is evident.

"Like private stuff," Louis says quickly before Liam can mention the iron man suit or the mirror with a built in TV. He's got the grate loose and carefully drops it on the table just underneath him. There's no way to turn around in the vent shaft, so he exits it head first, the table top's smooth wood surface cool under his hands as he drops into a handstand. He turns on his hands until he has enough space to land on his feet in a near soundless crouch.

The noise of Harry pleasantly chatting away with another guest downstairs drains away. "Louis?"

He hops off the table and heads for the safe in the corner. It's huge, ornate and flashy. These three things lead to one thing; it's old. And the older the safe, the easier it is to crack. It's the head of security's own fault if he allows old relics on his premises that even a kindergartener could crack.

"What?"

"What're you doing tomorrow night?"

Louis frowns, getting out his tools. "I don't know? Celebrating, I guess?"

"Oh good, hold on," Harry murmurs, before saying a few words of greeting to someone else.

Louis attaches the stethoscope-like gadget to the cool iron front of the safe and pops the other end into his left ear, the right already full with the com. They'd discussed it at length but in the end, Niall had put his foot down and made him keep it in. Something about being reachable in an emergency, Louis remembers, rolling his eyes.

He takes a deep breath and starts turning the dial.

"We should go on a date."

He's concentrating so hard for that tiny little click that it takes him half a minute to recognise that the statement was meant for him.

His hand slips on the dial and he chokes out a laugh. "What?"

He shakes out his hand and starts again, turning the dial slowly.

"We should go on a date. You and me. Tomorrow night, here in Paris."

"Mhm." There it is, the first little click on the second revolution clockwise. He peers at the number -- seventeen -- and commits it to memory.

"I know this great little restaurant, the owner is a good friend of mine."

"Big surprise there," comes Sophia's sarcastic input.

Three revolutions of the dial later and he still doesn't hear anything, so he starts turning it counterclockwise instead.

"Also," comes Harry's voice, deeper now, private. "You can stay at my place after. I know we only booked the hotel until tomorrow morning."

Louis hears the words, but they don't register, not really. There it is, the second click. Thirty-two. There's more conversation in his ear. He only tunes back in when he hears his name. "What?"

"Are you really gonna do that?" comes Liam's surprised voice.

"Do what," he asks distractedly. Three turns again, and again no click. Or did he miss it? No he wouldn't miss it. Back to clockwise it is. One turn, nothing. Second and there, maybe -

"Louis?"

Fuck, was that a click or not? Fucking com in his ear. He isn't sure, not a hundred percent. He bites his lips, trying to decide if he should count it as a click or start over.

No, work exact, be the best.

He starts over, muttering grumpily, "what?"

Two turns clockwise, stop at seventeen. Three turns in the opposite direction, thirty-two. He switches back to clockwise, listening intently on the second revolution.

"-- date with Harry?"

What date with Harry? What are they even talking about? There, that was definitely a click. Four. Louis tries spinning the antique wheel in the center of the door. It reminds him of a ship's wheel with eight spokes and a handle for each. Something he's recently seen on a webpage displaying nautical tattoos.

The door doesn't budge.

Ok not three numbers then. He starts listening for the fourth click, but gets distracted by the conversation over the com.

"-- we could even tour the Eiffel tower if you'd want."

"Eiffel tower?" he asks, not really listening to the answer, instead trying to concentrate on the sounds in his other ear.

"Yeah, it'll be romantic."

Romantic? What the fuck is Harry even talking about? What they have -- relationship -- for the lack of a better word, is a lot of things, but none of them romantic. "Why do you want romance?"

Harry sounds less patient now. "I thought we'd discussed it. If we try this whole relationship thing we need romance."

Louis hand slips on the dial, spinning it uncontrolled. And he hasn't heard the last click yet.

Sophia's snickers come over the com, along with Harry's deep murmur, talking of dates and romance and exclusivity. _Exclusivity!?_

"Will you all shut the fuck up!" he roars, hand already starting on the now familiar sequence. "I'm trying to open a fucking safe by sound here and I can't hear anything with you chattering over the coms!"

Thankfully, everyone goes quiet after that. Sophia is still laughing, but quietly so. He gets the fourth and last number and with a flourished spin of the ship's wheel, the door unlocks.

Louis smiles.

Damn, he is good.

The door swings open and "-- fuck."

"I didn't even say anything," Harry mumbles. He is clearly butthurt about having been told to shut up.

Louis takes a deep breath, eyes sweeping again over the inside of the safe, making sure.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "It's empty."

There's utter silence coming over the com. Sure _now_ they decide to finally shut up.

Then the faint sound of Niall pushing through a group of people, muttering "excuse me," a couple of times.

Louis starts biting the side of his thumb, eyes still locked in disbelief on the empty shelves inside. He makes himself stop. This isn't the first time a plan hasn't gone smoothly. Niall has backup plans, they're fine. Yeah. Fine.

Harry must have been thinking the same because he murmurs, "what's plan B then?"

"No good," Niall says, all business now. "Plan B was for when Louis' UPS disguise didn't work. No, we're moving on to plan E."

"Plan E?" Harry asks, dubiously.

"The rounds on Louis' floor start in five minutes," Liam reminds them, because of course they didn't have enough problems yet.

Louis looks at the window longingly, his original escape route. It's more than likely he won't be taking it now. There goes a perfectly good opportunity to jump out of the twenty-seventh floor and test the new round-up, carbon-fibre rope on his belt.

He suppresses a sigh and starts packing everything together. He closes the safe again and spins the wheel, effectively locking it. He looks around the moderately sized office, but everything is back as before.

"Okay," Niall says sounding like he's miles away. His voice gets firmer the longer he talks, "Soph, can you get into the vault?"

"I'd need to use the explosives. It'll be too loud."

A beat of silence, then, "how many?"

"How many what?"

"How many explosions?"

"Two," she says immediately. "One for each hinge. I can time them together if you need."

"Yeah. Ok get that ready. Liam?"

"Yes?"

"There's a DJ here, handling everything over his computer. I need control of his volume button, can you do that?"

Furious typing erupts and Liam's distracted, "sure, hold on. He's probably using the wifi. If he's using wifi it's - got him! I'll link it to your phone."

"Perfect," Niall says. "Louis?"

He'd been pacing the room anxiously but snaps to attention at the sound of his name. "What?"

"I need you to get to Soph and Liam. Since the safe was empty and we don't have the master key for the safety boxes, we're gonna need you to open them. How much time do you need?"

Louis is already running down the hallway towards the elevators as silently as he can. "Three minutes for each. Max. Liam I need an elevator shaft that's down to your floor."

Liam gives a tiny grunt, moments later says, "take the last one on the left. It's in the basement and I've jammed the signal."

Louis nods and starts stemming open the heavy doors of the elevator Liam mentioned.

"Harry?" Niall says just as Louis has the doors open enough to jam his body in sideways. He leans back and pushes.

"Yeah?"

"We'll need a distraction in about fifteen minutes. I'll tell you when. Something to pull everyone's attention to the front of the building, we're getting out through the back." Niall clears his throat, still moving. To where Louis has no idea. "This just turned into a hit and run, ladies and gentlemen, act accordingly."

"Okay," Harry says. "Yeah okay, I can do that."

"Make it a good one," Louis tells him, only half joking. He attaches the carabiner hook on his belt to the carbon string. Of course rappelling isn't half as comfortable with it compared to rope, but it has the great advantage of coiling up automatically on the spool on his belt. Apparently he gets to try it today after all. Lugging around rope even half its length would seriously restrict him. Plus, rope doesn't come with all the little extras.

He loops one end around a sturdy metal pipe on the inside of the elevator shaft, leaning into the darkness. His eyes are naturally drawn downwards, the sheer drop accentuated but the thin strips of light falling in on every level.

There's no bottom in sight.

His heart pounding, Louis grins.

He checks he's secure one last time before getting out his heavy gloves and slipping them on. Thin string in hand he maneuvers his body with his back to the drop, looking back out into the lobby. He lets the rig take his weight before leaning over and pulling the elevator doors closed again.

The almost complete darkness engulfs him, warm air rushing up from the lower levels.

Setting the speed on the spool on his belt, he starts walking, one foot underneath the other as he gets farther and farther away from level twenty-seven. Soon the string is unravelling so fast, walking isn't enough and he starts pushing off the wall in tiny hops that increase in distance as he speeds up.

After the seventh elevator door he's reached his maximum speed, right hand held tightly in front of his body, string slipping through.

He jumps back again, lands softly against another door. He brings his knees to his chest, softening the impact before tensing his muscles and pushing off again. His speed alone makes the air rush past, a steady swoosh in his ears, offset by the sound of the spool on his belt and the soles of his feet hitting the walls rhythmically.

He feels it bubbling up inside him, unable to stop it. He laughs, looking down into the darkness beyond. If it wouldn't give him away, he'd scream his pleasure right now. He feels safe here, free.

Further down, the soft light falling in from one of the elevator doors widens and Liam's head appears, illuminated from the light on his level.

Louis laughs and jumps, his stomach doing a little flop every time he pushes off and his body is weightless for just a moment.

He reaches Liam, flushed and still grinning as he pulls him into the elevator lobby on the fifth floor.

Louis laughs again, high on adrenaline as he gets out a tiny remote. He presses the sequence that will make the small end piece of the string, still all the way up on the twenty-seventh floor, explode. It's a miniature explosion at best, one that took him and Sophia three weeks to get right. But he feels it slacken on his belt and presses another button on the spool, watches the carbon fibre coil back up with almost no loss of length.

Of course it's possible to do emergency abseiling in such a way as to recover the rope. The trick is to have two hanging down, one to move down with and the other to pull once you're at the bottom, loosening the knot at the top with a hard yank. But that would mean he'd need to carry twice the length of rope, and really, he might as well give up on mobility then.

He watches the last end of the carbon fibre string wind itself up and pats it gently when it's done. He'll take it over rope any day.

He flicks his hair out of his eyes and looks up at Liam. "Well?"

Liam shakes his head ruefully. "You're fucking insane."

Louis raises on to his tiptoes, making sure to brush Liam's ear when he whispers, "you have no idea."

He's still so pumped that he only grins when Harry mumbles something about them needing to stop, because he was getting jealous.

+++

"Are you tracking the guards on this level?" Sophia doesn't look up from checking the explosive putty for the third time. She's a perfectionist at heart and Louis can appreciate that.

"Twenty seconds," Liam says, eyes glued to his tiny laptop.

She nods and gets up, smoothing down her knee length black dress. It hadn't been particularly hard for her to get her hands on the plus of a plus one invitation. Liam had simply checked the attendees social websites and they'd picked a guy who, while posting pics of his cat on instagram, had also recently signed on to several dating websites. She'd had no trouble walking into a bar he frequented and exiting two hours later with the invitation to come along to a diamond show.

Liam hadn't been able to shut up about it, weirdly proud, before disappearing with her into their shared hotel room and leaving the rest of them to do the remaining recon for that night.

Sophia pushes a little remote into Louis' hands. "Wait until one is down, and don't forget to tell Niall."

Louis nods, rolling excitedly onto the tips of his toes and back down again. "I love explosions."

She winks at him before walking down the corridor, just out of sight from where the security guards are about to appear. She slips off her heels, discards them off to one side before rolling her right shoulder.

"Ready Niall?" Louis asks.

"Ready."

Louis nods, calmed by Liam's keyboard clicks.

When it happens, it only takes a few seconds. But it unfolds step by step in Louis' mind, like he'd slowed down time itself just to appreciate it properly.

The two guards round the corner, more than a little surprised to find a slumped over Sophia drunkenly try to hold herself up. One guys eyes travel down her form, clearly having judged her to be non-threatening and therefore a prime object to be ogled. The second one must have a more suspicious nature because his hand goes up to the walkie talkie on his shoulder.

Sophia smiles at him before leaning back. Her entire body snaps forward, the weight of it behind the punch that connects with his face. Apparently, it's not at all easy to punch someone out with a single hit, and they've watched no end of movies where Sophia complained about the inaccuracies. But it's not impossible, proven by how the huge guy drops like a stone, surprise still etched on his face.

The second guy's expression isn't much better. It must be quite a surprise when the pretty girl you were eyeing moments before suddenly knocks out your three hundred pound mate.

"Now," Louis mutters and Niall must increase the dial of the DJ's volume because moments later Louis can hear the beat over the com, swears he can feel it in the walls. This is an expensive evening, showcasing some of the world's most flawless diamonds. They wouldn't skimp on the speaker system.

"Go!"

Louis presses the button.

Behind them, around the corner, the explosion shakes the building. It's not only loud, but the compressed air hits them like a tidal wave. Pieces of concrete are flung everywhere, a metal hinge pinging off the metal door on the opposite site. Well shit.

Sophia is still busy with the second security guy, the explosion having distracted him enough that she pirouettes into a high kick. The heel of her bare foot connects with the side of his face and he joins his buddy on the floor. Sophia crouches down to check both their pulses.

They might be a band of misfits that steal priceless artwork and anything else worth loads of money, but none of them want to be killers.

Louis turns to the vault, knowing Sophia will be a few moments, tying up the guys and making sure their walkie talkies are nowhere near them when they wake up.

With Liam's help they force the huge door back just enough to squeeze through.

He immediately gets his lock picking kit and starts on the first deposit box. If it doesn't involve some complicated code and a computer screen, Liam is incapable of cracking so much as a piggy bank. But Sophia is pretty decent in a pinch, and she helps out once she's finished with the security guys.

They work in silence for a few moments, Louis unlocking one box after another, heart beating rapidly, before he moves on to the next, leaving it to Liam to clear out the diamonds.

Sophia lets out a muffled curse, shaking out her wrist. Liam is next to her in the blink of an eye. "What's wrong," he asks, worry creeping into his voice.

"Cracked wrist," she says, hand shaking when she picks up the lockpick again. "It's not quite as easy to punch out a guy. You have to make his brain knock against his skull, that's why I don't usually do it."

Liam grabs her elbow softly, pulling her away. She places her hand on his, looking up at him. "I'm fine." She gently removes his hand. "Now do your job, okay babe?"

Liam nods dumbly, his face ashen. It takes another minute or so before he makes himself step away. He goes back to monitoring the laptop, but his eyes swivel up every few seconds.

This is exactly why you don't do a job with someone you're sleeping with. Too much emotion clouding your judgement.

It's why this entire dating thing with Harry is ridiculous to begin with. Louis is a thief, Harry a professional liar. Granted, Harry is actually pretty bad at it but he makes up for it with his charm.

Long story short, they'd never work out.

The sex is good, okay fantastic, but that's not enough. And last but not least, what he wants and what Harry has to offer are two completely different things. It'd never work.

Resigned to tell Harry just that, Louis swings open the last box and grabs the handful of diamonds inside. At least their loot is easily concealed, no bags of money to smuggle outside. No, he can tuck these away safely in his zip-up pocket.

"Done," Liam tells Niall over the com.

"Get to the northwest side then," Niall says. "The last office on that side. Harry?"

"I'm ready," Harry says. His voice is utterly normal, no trace of anything wrong. And still a chill runs up Louis' spine. He shrugs it away, sure he's just being paranoid. "I'll have to take the com out for this though. You should have at least fifteen minutes."

"Don't take out your fucking com, you idiot!" Louis tells him while falling in behind the others, already heading down the dark corridor that will lead them to the office Niall mentioned.

Liam is taking point, laptop still out, tracking movements of security personnel and readjusting cameras to give them blind spots to be invisible in.

There's no response.

"Harry!" Louis shouts quietly. "Did you hear me?"

He waits, rounding another corner. There's an open space ahead, a cafeteria by the looks of it. The chairs are on top of the tables, probably so the weekend cleaning crew has an easier time of getting everything gleaming for monday morning. A glass front fridge stacked with a wide variety of soft drinks spills its multicoloured light onto the floor they run across.

"Haz," Louis says desperately. "Answer me!"

But Harry doesn't and an entirely different sort of dread clenches Louis' heart.

He pushes the feeling down roughly, concentrating instead on keeping up with the others. He's the fastest runner of the group, but while he'd slowed down to listen for a response that never came, the gap between them has gotten bigger and bigger.

They reach their destination seconds later, a private office filled with books, the desk overflowing with loose pages. There's a half-eaten sandwich lying forgotten on another pile on the wooden coffee table.

"What now?" Liam pants, eyes still fixed on his computer. He lets out a small curse and starts typing.

"Window," Niall says.

It's narrow, just wide enough to squeeze through sideways. Louis yanks it open and looks outside. A few stories down, he can make out Niall's head. It's coming closer and closer until Louis recognises the contraption; Niall is standing in one of the outside elevators they've seen the window washers use while studying the building.

It's torturously slow and Louis can't help but throw a quick look over his shoulder.

"Now I get why you needed Harry to cause a distraction," he says when Niall is close enough. Louis climbs aboard the still moving lift and turns to help Sophia.

"Couldn't have anyone from the street see us. And who knows where the patrols inside currently are."

"Most of them are heading towards the front," Liam says, climbing on while still watching his laptop and almost plummeting to his death. Sophia pulls him close with her good hand and he smiles at her dopily.

"Urgh, gross." Louis wrinkles his nose in disgust. He snatches the control from Niall and presses the down button. "Get a room, you two."

Honestly.

Sophia grins at him while wrapping Liam's arm around her shoulders. "What're you gonna wear on your date tomorrow, then?" 

"I hate you," he mutters, leaning over the edge and letting the wind brush his face. "Why is this thing so slow? Did you break it?"

Niall looks mildly affronted, so Louis marks it down as hitting the nail on the head.

"What did Harry go with?" Liam asks. It's a wonder he can wrench his attention away long enough from his laptop and Sophia to ask the question. "The there's-something-in-my-glass? Or the jealous-boyfriend one?"

Louis leans back enough to watch Niall. Not that he really cares what Harry did, because he doesn't.

Niall shrugs. Louis should have known he'd be useless. "I heard him the last time you did."

"He probably fucked up." It doesn't come out the way he meant it to, weak and fragile.

Louis shuts up after that, cursing his voice silently while waiting for them to reach the ground. He's not worried about Harry.

Harry is old enough to look out for himself.

It's none of Louis' business.

Right.

He's almost got himself convinced when they climb into their car. Niall decides to circle around the front to see if Harry is waiting, so Liam does just that.

The moment they round the corner, Louis swears his heart stops beating. The softly lit front entrance is awash in ambulance lights. People are shouting, on the phone or simply craning their necks for a better view.

"Shit," Niall says. "Drive by slowly. Don't draw attention."

Liam nods, clutching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white.

Louis shifts in his seat as he watches a paramedic hold open the door with one hand, a clear bag with a tube attached to it held high in the other. Something cold slides into the pit of Louis' stomach as two more emergency medical personnel carrying a stretcher appear.

They're heading for the nearest ambulance, still shouting instructions to each other and jostling the unconscious patient laid out between them.

Louis turns back in his seat and looks out the front window numbly.

Niall is saying something and Sophia leans over a few moments later to shake his shoulder.

Louis looks at them with wide eyes, opens his mouth but no sound comes out. There's a ringing in his ears, drowning out all the other sounds besides his heartbeat, achingly high in his throat.

He blinks, eyes burning.

Whatever adrenaline had buoyed his mood earlier is gone. It’s left him with nothing but an icy cold numbness that will inevitably crumble into life-altering hurt.

Because the guy on the stretcher had had a familiar mop of curly brown hair.

 

+++

Harry dreams.

Louis is there, as well as all the others. The dream makes no sense, doesn't focus on the new people in his life. No, the dream is about him, being there with them, wanting to talk, to interact. But his speech is slurred and no matter how hard he tries to keep his eyes open, they slide shut.

A tiredness settles over him, heavy and all-consuming. He wonders that should he give in, should he stop struggling for no real gain, if the darkness will take him completely.

He slips back under then, strange dream a distant memory.

+++

He's back to dreaming, he thinks, because he can't open his eyes. The tiredness is less real somehow, exchanged for a deep ache. It's everywhere, in his arms, his head, his throat, his torso.

He manages to peel his eyelids apart.

Right, not a dream then.

Rather a hospital room. There's an old TV mounted in one corner and it smells slightly of antiseptic. It's nighttime, but the curtain isn't drawn and enough light creeps inside to make out the general shape of things.

The window is standing slightly ajar, the cool nighttime breeze brushing over his heated skin.

There's a door off to his left, probably the bathroom. A huge teddy bear is resting on the nightstand and several balloons float in one corner. Harry grins, turning his head so his eyes scan the rest of the room.

There's nothing more but a huge, lumpy sofa chair and several machines. He's connected to a heart monitor and there's a syringe in his arm, drip hanging next to him.

He settles back into bed, staring at the wall while a smile spreads across his lips. Niall had asked for a distraction and Louis had said to make it a good one. He can't remember all of it, but he's pretty sure he managed to deliver.

His smile widens.

And suddenly, the lumpy couch chair moves. Harry manfully doesn't scream. Turns out, it's not the chair moving at all, but the person that had been sitting on it this whole time, hidden in the shadows and keeping utterly still.

The moment he stands, backlit against the light from the window, it's unmistakably Louis. Harry would know the contours of that body anywhere.

"Why the fuck are you grinning like a loon? Did you actually fry your brain?"

Louis steps closer, the dim light falling onto the planes of his face. He really has the best cheekbones ever. His eyes are slightly hooded in a perpetual bedroom smoulder. Harry's eyes linger on the soft curve of his lips.

He did it all for Louis, would have done so much more. The aches in his body, the difficulty swallowing. He'd do it all again, just to keep him safe.

And suddenly, he doesn't need Niall to explain it to him. He doesn't need to read poetry or watch romantic movies. Suddenly, he knows.

Harry Styles is deeply in love with Louis Tomlinson.

He holds out his hand and Louis takes it, lets himself be pulled closer to the bed. His thighs bump the mattress next to Harry. "I'm smiling," Harry says in a scratchy voice that surprises him. "Because I did well. And I finally understand."

Louis' free hand gently traces over his hairline. When he speaks, it's in a whisper. "Understand what?"

Harry smiles brighter, radiant, sure he can light up the darkened room just with the force of it. "I'm in love with you." A sad smile curves Louis' lips. Harry squeezes his hand. "What's wrong?"

Louis settles on the bed, never letting go of Harry's hand. "I know you like me," Louis says softly, looking down at their entwined fingers. "But you're too -- I don't know. You're too big to settle down. Your personality, your looks, your talents. They aren't meant for an ordinary life." Louis looks at him then, calm and patient.

Harry still smiles, shaking his head. "Louis, you climbed up and down an elevator shaft in order to steal diamonds from a corrupt business just the other day. What exactly is ordinary about that?"

Louis shakes his head. "I don't mean just that. Though I don't plan on doing this all my life, you know?" Harry doubts that very much. Maybe on this scale, yes. But Louis gets too much enjoyment out of the thrill to ever go back to something normal. "And I didn't mean a normal job. I meant a normal relationship."

He brings one hand up to Harry's face and cups his cheek, thumb stroking down and catching on his bottom lip.

"You're amazing. People are drawn to you. You can never work a day in your life and still spend it on yachts or in mansions all around the world because people will simply throw opportunities your way. Because they want you around. There's no place in your life for a jealous boyfriend."

Harry looks at him for a long moment. "You think I'm amazing?"

Louis drops his hand. "Yeah," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Amazingly idiotic. What the fuck did you even do?"

"You mean for the diversion? Nick knows this guy who set me up with some medicine. Take it and you display the effects of an anaphylactic shock."

"Did you know," Louis starts in a tightly controlled voice. The grip on Harry's hand has turned punishing. "That an anaphylactic shock can lead to death?"

"Yeah, but that's like, really rare. Statistically speaking --"

"Statistically speaking?" Louis interrupts him with a near screech. He wrenches his hand free and jumps up, angrily pacing up and down next to the hospital bed. "You almost died, you fucking idiot!"

Louis stomps around some more. Harry is trying to sit up, manages to get as far as his elbows. He crashes back down when Louis pushes him hard, anger spilling over.

"And then you wake up after two fucking days, and all you can say is you love me?"

Harry tries to get back up, but between one blink and the next, Louis is on top of him, straddling his hips and pushing down against his shoulders. And the two days must have taken their toll because Harry feels week as a kitten in the face of Louis' rage. He gets another hard punch to the shoulder, but decides not to mention it, too fascinated with the look in Louis' eyes.

Louis leans in close, angry pants washing over Harry's face. If he lifts his head just a bit, they'd be kissing. He doesn't though, just tilts his head back in blatant invitation, not breaking eye contact.

Louis shoves him again, weaker this time. "I was fucking worried, you arsehole."

And then they're kissing, a fierce pressure of lips on lips. Louis is trembling above him, in anger, frustration and concern.

He places his hands gently on Louis' hips. It grounds him, evens his breathing, makes the kiss less violent.

"I thought you were dead."

There's something fragile in Louis' voice and it reminds Harry of the day Niall explained Louis' dad leaving and his subsequent issues. He slides both arms around Louis, one around his waist, one hand resting on the back of Louis' head. "I'm not gonna leave you," he murmurs, peppering soft kisses along Louis' cheek. "Can't get rid of me that easily."

Louis doesn't say anything, just clutches him closer.

Maybe it's his time to talk, explain. "Also, you're right. People do throw opportunities my way. But you know, I have actually lived like that for a while now; taking people up on they offer to stay at their place, parties each night and weekend trips in the private jet to the Bahamas. Trust me, my life has been anything but ordinary." He slips a hand under Louis' jumper, needing to feel the heat from his skin under his fingertips. "In the last year, I've been growing more and more bored by it. Doing it because it was routine. It had turned ordinary, and it was boring me to death."

Louis lifts his head from where it had been resting on his chest. "Why?"

His lips twist into a lopsided smile. "Because I met you."

The air catches in Louis' throat, Harry heard it, before he pushes Harry's shoulder again. "Stop it. You don't have to tell me what you think I want to hear. I'll have sex with you anyway, not like I can tell you no. And trust me, I've tried."

Harry wants to flip them, wants Louis underneath him, slip between his thighs and just stare down at him. Only he can't because he's still connected to cables and tubes, so he contents himself with the weight of Louis on top of him. "Well, I want to."

"But why."

"Because I mean every word I say. I want to date you, be in a committed, monogamous relationship with you. And I'm pretty sure you do too. All that's stopping us, is you."

Louis looks at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Me?"

Harry nods. "Yes. You'll have to take the plunge, trust what I say is the truth, and believe in us."

They're quiet for a long while, no sound apart from their breathing, the soft rustling as Harry gently strokes his hand up and down Louis' back.

"Like jumping off a building?"

Harry's grin returns full force. "Like jumping off a building," he agrees.

"I do like doing that."

Harry can't help it, giddily kisses him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And well, that seems to be it.

"Just so you know, I'm not moving into your warehouse."

Louis scrambles into a sitting position, looking perfectly indignant. "What's wrong with my warehouse?"

"Absolutely nothing if you use it as your personal jungle gym. Or a storage space. But I need a proper bedroom, and a kitchen."

"You don't even own a home! You're basically homeless. A homeless millionaire. And before you get any insane ideas, we are not buying a house. Not unless we've been together for at least three years."

Warmth explodes in Harry's chest just thinking of three years with Louis, of more. "Of course I have a house." Louis just raises one disbelieving eyebrow. "It's true. You've been there."

Louis laughs. "When have I ever been to your house?"

Harry turns his smile decidedly dirty. He forces his body into a sitting position. With Louis perched in his lap, they're mere inches apart. He trails his hand down Louis' back, over the swell of his arse, which he squeezes. "Remember when I rimmed you after you disabled that alarm?"

Louis mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, "how could I forget."

"That was my house. One of them, I have a few others around the world."

Louis shifts but not enough to dislodge Harry's hand from his bum. He winds his arms around Harry's neck, voice saccharine sweet. "So you let me break into your own home, even though you knew the code for the alarm?"

He's doing interesting things with his hips and all Harry can do is answer in a slightly strained voice. "Yes? I thought it would be fun."

"Hmm." That sounds ominous, but before Harry can question it, Louis looks at him from under his lashes, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "So what you're saying is, we're dating now?"

One of Louis' hands slowly makes it down the front of Harry's atrocious hospital gown. He tracks the movement in fascination. "Yes."

"And I'll be moving into the various houses you have all around the world?"

His hand comes to rest between them, where Harry's dick is getting interested in the happenings and the gown is starting to tent. "Yeah," he rasps as Louis' clever fingers slip underneath and into his pants.

"And you'll be taking me around the world, showing me all the most gorgeous places?"

Harry bites his lip, trying not to moan as Louis sets a hard rhythm. He nods.

Louis leans forward, shifting his hand aside to grind into him. Harry can feel the length of his dick, still trapped in his skinnies. He wants to undress Louis, but he also wants to see where this ends. Louis brings his lips close to his ear, whispers, "gonna make me your kept boy?"

His dick jumps, he can't help it. Louis notices too, leaning back with a devilish smirk before taking Harry back in hand. And yes, Harry can see that. Can see himself waking up next to Louis each morning, make him breakfast, introduce him to his friends.

Harry groans on a particularly rough upstroke, hips bucking uselessly. "And we'll have sex in each and every room you own? All around the world?"

"That's -" Harry does some quick calculation, but Louis' nimble fingers prove too much of a distraction, "a lot of rooms."

Louis' hand stops, his voice sharp. "I like to have a lot of sex."

Harry wants to laugh, he really does. Instead he almost cries, because he's been an idiot for so long, blind and dumb and stupid, caught up in his routine, playing it safe. He could have had this, _Louis_ , a year ago.

Louis' fingers tighten around his dick, like a reminder to keep his head in the game. "Don't think that'll be a problem," he chokes out.

"No? Lots of shagging, whenever and wherever I want?"

"Fuck, yes. Anything you want."

Louis lets go, causing Harry to mewl. He spits into the palm of his hand and wraps it back around Harry's now straining cock, palm sliding faster, rougher, better.

"What if I want kinky sex? What if I want to call you daddy and fuck me bent over the sofa with my hands tied behind my back?"

Oh lord, Louis will be the death of him. Louis slows down, raising an eyebrow calmly. Harry gets it, is quick to answer, will do anything if Louis doesn't stop, "I've got cuffs, we can definitely do that."

Louis watches his own hand jerking Harry for a moment before saying, almost absentmindedly, "that's no good. I can get out of handcuffs."

"Fuck," Harry moans, leaning forward and sucking on Louis neck.

After only a few seconds, Louis pushes his head back. "Wanna see," he says, voice finally showing some strain. He speeds up and Harry watches Louis watch his hand on Harry's dick. Then Louis twists his wrist just so. "What if I want to tie you up and you to call _me_ daddy?"

He squeezes the cockhead tightly, eyes finally locking with Harry's.

Harry whines.

"Both. We can do both. Or either. Whatever you want."

"Hmm," Louis contemplates, strokes fast and hard now. "What if I wanna buy a sex swing?"

Fuck, Harry will buy him an entire sex shop if he asks. "Yes, sure."

"Nipple clamps?"

Harry bites his lip when Louis pinches his nipple in a weak imitation. "Mhm."

"What about --"

"Louis," Harry bites out, hands fisted in the sheets. "Gonna come."

Louis' face darkens. "Yeah." He speeds up his hand, still staring at it like it's the first time he's holding a dick. Suddenly, he looks up. "I love you, too, by the way."

And that's it. Harry comes, loud and messy and perfect, with his boyfriend perched in his lap, stroking him through the aftershocks.

He falls back flat onto the bed, breathing heavy, a deep contentment settling in his bones. Louis tucks him back into his pants gently.

He looks at his come-covered fingers. His nose wrinkles. Then he wipes it on Harry's hospital gown, staining the crisp material. Harry will have some embarrassing explaining to do tomorrow.

And that's it, Harry realises. That's what he's signed up for.

And he wouldn't change it, not for all the money in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3 
> 
> here's [the epilogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4917196).
> 
> written for the prompt: "I only want a no-strings-attached relationship with you, and I made it very clear since the beginning. But then you introduced me as your friend to someone and I realised that maybe, just maybe, I want you to be my boyfriend. And now I wonder if it's too late."
> 
> I'm a bit on the fence about this fic, so I'd love to hear which parts you liked particularly, which stuck in your mind and why! if you have any constructive criticism I'd love to hear that, too.
> 
> → [tumblr post](http://karamelised.tumblr.com/post/130351074552/no-pressure-no-diamonds-in-the-rough-epilogue) for this verse.


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